


keep your head above water

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Couch Cuddles, Family, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Secret Relationship, Siblings, Time Skips, Uncle Cor Leonis, dad cor leonis, i'll definitely update these tags as the fic goes one tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2019-11-17 14:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18100301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: written for the kink meme prompt: cor doing the dad forehead kiss on the bros to comfort them, because he's proud of them, whatever, I just want Cor dadding at the bros!-Ignis cherished family. Every single birthday for his aunts and uncles there was a thoughtful gift and no favour went unfilled, Ignis going above and beyond for them. Not once had he ever responded to their names with fear or anger.“Ignis,” he tried, and the worry had his voice trembling. “Please tell me what has you so upset.”Ignis swallowed. Every line of him was tense. Toying with the crystal cuffs Regis had gifted him for his eighteenth, he stammered, “I...I think I’ve fucked everything up.”





	1. noctis

Out beyond the parlour, cluttering the stretch of lush gardens nestled within the walls of the Citadel, Cor watched the throng of people grow larger and larger and more loudly impatient by the minute. Some had arrived at dawn. Others had followed in the later hours of the brighter morning. The tall widows had been open for a blissful few hours, until a maid came and drew them shut for peace. She had drawn the fine curtains closed to ensure the comfort and privacy of those who waited within, the sunlight diluted by the fabric, softening the glare. 

Through the smaller open windows Cor could still hear the flow of voices, the chattering and the laughter. Curiosity brimmed like rough waves, waxing but seemingly never waning, and Cor gazed out at the hazy faces. Lost in his own thoughts, he barely registered the flashes of cameras. Usually, he would wince. But today was the day the Lucian media would bring the first images of the royal family with their infant son, the very first sighting of the prince of Lucis, and Cor supposed he couldn’t fault them for their excitement as much as he wanted to.

At his side, Hegio shifted from foot to foot. It was unlike him. In the eyes of the public he was always stoic and professional, infallible. Cor supposed there was a current that electrified the Citadel, a weave that wound them all together and something that made them itch. He could feel it too. It rendered him unable to sit and patiently wait. It was a promise, a change, something that made him pace back and forth.

“At least this is new to all of us,” he said, voice low as if the crowd could hear them over their own murmur and through thick glass. “I’m fine with being lost at sea. Just as long as I’m lost with everyone else.”

“Royal babies are a rare sight,” Cor agreed. And thank the gods - Cor had never been so rushed off his feet for his grown king, let alone a squalling child.  _ Only a week old and already a pain in the ass,  _ Clarus had joked, but there was a dulled look to his eyes. Not quite misery but close. Security had been doubled since the pregnancy was officially confirmed, tripled since the prince had made his way into the world screaming. The queen went nowhere without her son in her arms and at least four of their best. Thanks to his other duties and young age, Cor was not counted amongst them, and thusly hadn’t spoken to Aulea since. “The last was Regis himself.”

The Kingsglaive whistled lowly. Barely out of his teens with his flawed skin and barely there beard, he had known no infant prince. “With any luck, the princling will be the sweetest thing and all your waiting will be worth it.”

Cor could only shrug. As Captain, he had been in charge of schedules. Shut away in a dark office organizing names and places while the queen remained to rest and recuperate in her private rooms. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of her tired but content face. Regularly he heard the wailing of her son. But there was no face, no name. Not until today.

Hegio shot him a look. “You and the Shields get first dibs then?”

“Ah -- not quite,” he murmured, finding himself exasperated. There was nothing so simple as all that. A declaration of an heir was no time for cuddles and fuss between uncles and aunts. Or at least, that was what the older members of the Council haughtily told him, and were promptly ignored. It was a solemn time of quiet indulgence, the insisted.

They would be furious then, Cor expected, to feel the air. There was a thrum of delight, the promise of the future they were all working towards, striving for. Every face that he passed that morning wore soft smiles, murmuring quiet hellos as if to avoid disturbing the peace. There were children in the Citadel already, Ignis charming and Gladio energetic, but a prince was uncharted territory for each of them. The corridors seemed brighter, homier already.

Cor wondered if the world was indeed different - if he was different. All the little things that bothered him seemed that much lighter. Even his exasperation was fleeting.

“Not really a family gathering,” he clarified. “It’s a lot more serious, and no one in their right mind will be cooing, no matter how sweet he might be.” Cor’s smile was wry. “Assuming, of course, no noble bootlicker will come along and think being patronizing will get a week old child to hold them in high political esteem.”

With a roll of his eyes, Hegio scoffed. “Yeah, we all know some of ‘em are stupid enough to try it. Think the little one might need a bodyguard or two himself. Half aren’t going to be happy keeping their hands to themselves.”

“I’ll cleave them off if they try anything,” Cor said darkly, and with a side smile Hegio said nothing further. Their silence was companionable and that was how Cor liked it.

The voices outside were no more than a low drone now. It was a dull, a touch irritating to hear but the cool air was too much of a relief to shut the windows. An aide that Cor barely recognised had directed them here, one of the small retirement rooms used for guests. Lavishly furnitured and bright but dusty in it’s corners. Cor spied a cobweb and a small spider that called it home. Cleaning staff swept very quickly over rooms on the lower levels, uninterested in wasting precious time. But eager journalists had quick eyes, trying to spot any sign of life by the clouded windows, still snapping shots of the same old walls. Reporters grasped cameras as if the king himself would appear, holding the young prince aloft like a trophy. 

From the plush sofa across the room, perched awkwardly, the ominously quiet Ignis looked up again. As always his little hands were everywhere, pulling at the loose fabric of his trousers and patting at the thick, decorative pillows. It was hard to keep him entertained, impossible at times -- but Ignis was far better than most children, rarely giving Cor a migraine. Thankfully he had yet to break anything. Back in the olden days, when Cor was foolhardy and still clumsy, he knew the compulsion to touch all too well and had broken several things that cost a pretty crown to replace. To this day, he was sure the ripped tapestry he buried deep in the soil in the Mystic’s Gardens had yet to be found. “Daddy,” Ignis declared, unconcerned with much else.

“Soon, Ignis. We’ll see him soon,” Cor promised, and stifled laughter when Ignis’ brows’ creased deeply. “Are you bored? Did you finish your treats?”

A pack of gummies lay ripped open on the table. Ignis showed no interest in them or replying, instead continuing to be unable to sit still. Wobbling where he knelt, he slid to settle on his rump. Kicking out his little legs he complained, “Baby is late,” as if it was a personal slight. 

Hegio had no such self restraint. He snorted, and strove to cover up his smile and giggles with a scratch of his broad nose.

“We’ll shape him up,” he promised in as gruff a voice as he could manage. “You excited, Iggy?”

The boy nodded even as his frown refused to budge. “Baby,” he declared and his guardians nodded seriously, profoundly, fighting against their smiles. The sound of the people seemed not to bother Ignis, not did the ticking of a grand clock hoisted on the wall, snapping along with the seconds that snuck by. An hour of waiting had settled Ignis’ once frayed nerves, and the gift of his gummies and a little puzzle set now left abandoned once consuming him. 

“Can’t imagine it’ll be much longer now,” Hegio continued, now scrubbing at his chin. A patch of stubble had been missed along his throat. “If our Marshal won’t see the baby today, no one will.”

It was a mere matter of minutes after they fell into silence again that the wait was over. It was enough time for Ignis to huff, leaning back in a graceless slouch against the back of the sofa. Dusty shoes were all over the beige fabric but Cor didn’t say a word. Instead he exhaled into the quiet, dreading the moment the thick-headed Council would be invited to see the prince. The following months would be turbulent, the months after worse, but he hoped by the end that his friends were happy and would have raised a strong child with a good head on his shoulders - and, if he were anything like his parents, a kind and considerate soul.

Cor took the moment to roll his shoulders and grimace at the sharp pop. He stretched, and then the lock on the door clicked softly.

Three heads swiftly turned. Ignis shot up, eager to be the centre of attention, patting his hands against his thighs. In the doorway Monica stood, composed as always, and her smile was warm. To Ignis’ pleasure, her eyes lingered on him. He called out to her in happiness.

“Good morning,” she greeted, and cast a sparing look out towards the windows. Each of them had never been so grateful for privacy. “They’re ready for you, Marshal.”

Cor breathed a sigh of relief. When he stepped up Ignis wriggled for attention, slipping off the sofa and barely able to balance his own weight. His expression was alight with eagerness. “Baby?”

Her smile turned back to him. She held the door wide for the two of them and Ignis bumbled ahead, nearly escaping out the door before she quickly, subtly blocked his path. “Yes, the prince is ready for you now. Are you ready, Ignis?”

As Cor leaned down and swept him up, Ignis nodded furiously. Little strands of hair fell in his eyes. It almost dislodged him glasses, and as Cor balanced him high on his hip he adjusted them carefully. Ignis was soothingly hot against him as always. “Can we play?”

“Maybe aunt ‘lea will let you hold him, but no playing today, buddy. He’s a little too small.”

It was hard to see Ignis’ happiness crash. Crestfallen, the tentative hope tumbled and slumped his small shoulders, but Cor took and lightly squeezed his sweaty hands. They were still tiny, barely half as big as Cor’s palm. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long before you can. Promise.”

Monica stepped aside. Ignis attempted to lead, gesturing out and eagerly looking around as i the child would be presented in a cramped hallway. He leaned out and Cor readjusted his grip, making sure he was safe. He babbled softly to himself, and Cor could only laugh.

As they stepped through Hegio gently murmured a wish of good luck. When they shut the door the dull voices disappeared. Lost between left and right Ignis placed his hand on Ignis’ cheek, eyes wide, and Monica strode ahead and directed them to follow her closely. Ignis watched, squinting as if his specialist glasses were useless.

“Her Majesty is currently in the company of His Majesty and their Shields,” Monica explained, her voice ringing out and fading down the length of the hall. She stepped far ahead. Her distance made Ignis fuss, reaching out a hand for her and whining, and Cor forced himself to match her stride. “They chose the Council’s retirement room, for size and comfort, and photo opportunities. As you can expect, sir, they would like to keep this as quiet as possible.”

“Of course,” Cor said, and Ignis gurgled to himself. The boy fisted his own shirt and tugged, sagging against Cor in his thoughtlessness, and Cor played with his tiny fingers. Pinching and squeezing them made him giggle.

They moved along the hall in the quiet only broken by the child. Most staff were diverted to the external shifts, focusing on the crowds that had gathered daily every since the announcement. A few staff wandered with vague purpose. Some greeted Cor distantly. Most beamed at Ignis’ gentle and shy hello’s.

It was a short journey, with a careful jaunt up the stars and a few sharp corners. As with most other things Ignis had mastered his escape acts, surprisingly fast and agile for one his age, and he could take stairs one at a time when feeling bold. Cor slowed nonetheless, unwilling to jostle a child in a good mood, steadying his hand on the boy and praying for no tears. Crowing, Ignis counted each step and only became distracted on the eighth. When Monica congratulated him he smiled.

It was odd to think that soon Cor might be watching a prince learn the very basics of speech and mobility. It would be under the loving eyes of his family and, thank the gods, no Mors to glower and poison the thoughts of his grandson. Perhaps in the future Ignis would be there waiting patiently at the top of the stairs for him.

It was few short moments before the arrived at the retirement room, and Ignis began to writhe. Taking his cue before the tantrum came Cor settled him down with care, making sure he was content before drawing away, and Ignis took the opportunity to make a break for it.

Determinedly rushing forward before either guardian could react, he splayed himself against the door that someone had left ajar. He pushed hard and slipped into the room before even Monica could react. Stiffening with the surprise and cursing,  _ shit _ , he burst forward without thinking. Briskly following at his heels, Monica swore herself.

“Ignis,” Cor said firmly, a little rougher than he often dared with him. He shouldered the door open hard in his urgency. It creaked terribly, and then suddenly every surprised head in the room turned suddenly to stare.

Ignoring all others for the moment he found Ignis in the centre of the room. He had become temporarily distracted by all the soft colours and standing crowd, before spotting a glass bowl of wrapped candies on the coffee table. Attention stealing reds and greens drew his eyes. Sticky hands pressed all over the glass and left a dozen mark. But offhandedly he glanced up, expression slowly smoothing out before the awe took over, eyes going wide. He looked towards the length of the room, thoughtlessly putting his hands to his mouth.

“Auntie,” he mumbled around his fingers, and Cor glanced up. Content with Ignis’ safety, doggedly ignoring the guards who flanked the door, he took the world in. Comfortable looking sofas settled around the low table were empty but familiar faces stood beyond. Those known to Cor and unknown wore startled expressions. Tomorrow, Cor would give the guards hell for not responding to what could have been a threat. In the moment Cor would be satisfied that Ignis was not harmed or scared. 

Beyond that, the King stood tall against the sunlight streaming in from the wide windows. A wheelchair sat empty close by, Sorrel and Clarus staring out at Ignis, and Aulea sat in the very centre of the room. Clearly exhausted but still carefully made up with pale lips and dark eyes, her arms filled with a bundle of navy blankets. Her hair was drawn back tight against her head, face a touch pale, but still she smiled.

Everything was still. But then the queen smiled, eyes only for Ignis. “Hello, love,” she cooed and Ignis bounced on the balls of his feet, delighted at her undivided attention. Without waiting for Cor he wandered over and fisted his hands in the yellow blanket thrown over her legs. To see, he had to rise up on his tiptoes. “I’m sorry we kept you waiting.”

Further out by the window, Ignis’ father dithered helplessly. Amais’ arms were full of pillows and his expression was torn between relief and panic. Cor would take mercy in time. Ignis looked in between his father and the queen, attempting currently to wriggle up onto her lap. He liked to preen there while she smoothed over his honey coloured hair, telling him he was the best boy in the Citadel. It was tragic to know he now had serious competition. 

Horror quickly won out on Amais’ face, an opponent no one expected much less a victor, but Cor scurried forward first. That excitable child was wrangled and laughter spread throughout the room, breaking the tension, though both Cor and Amais’ laughter came a touch nervous, belated. 

Up in Cor’s arms Ignis protested. He squirmed precariously, deeply unhappy with the turn of events. Those legs kicked out again and Cor swiftly stepped back to save Aulea’s face, holding him tight. “Uncle!” Ignis protested, even his short first name too tough for a child his age to manage, but Cor ignored the weakness of his knees at the reminder of  _ family _ , and held fast.

“Play nice, Iggy,” he reminded him firmly and Ignis huffed in displeasure. Careening forward once more he tried to get a good view on the infant, hidden in the folds of blankets. From even his vantage point Cor could barely see anything. But even a glimpse of pale skin and tufts of Regis’ black hair was enough to make Cor’s heart skip and shudder.

Aulea tilted her head towards the closest seat. “Please, sit,” she said, and Ignis was determined. A thousand wordless complaints had every parent laughing. Amais hurried forward, settling all of his half dozen pillows on the nearest loveseat. They wobbled precariously but he seemed not to notice. Anxiety riddled his expression.

“I’m sorry, Marshal,” he murmured. “I can take him.”

Cor shook his head. Ignis ignored the both of them. “Ignis, be good. Auntie ‘lea is tired.”

The queen simply laughed. Awkwardly she shuffled, careful not to disturb her son. There was space enough for a small child beside her. “Let him sit. He’s been waiting a terribly long time.”

Delighted, Ignis held out his arms. He waved them expectantly and eager to be cuddled and cherished, but Cor took an uncertain step backwards. “He’s too excited. He’ll hurt you.”

She hummed as if it say  _ nonsense _ , and in his eternal lack of good timing Ignis began to snuffle. His expression crumbled, complaints in the back of his throat gearing up for a wail to rival an avalanche, but a voice from behind them smoothly cut across any protest.

“Take a chair,” a woman said. Glancing over Cor watched one of the few strangers approach, having not seen her ghost around the inner circle. Having leant over and grasped one of the dining chairs by a grand table on Cor’s far right she carried it over as if it weighed nothing at all. Ornate metal gleamed overhead. Amais leapt out of her way as if spooked. The chair was settled down by the queen’s side, with a brisk smile just on the right side of pleasant. A lanyard bore her image. A camera was on a strap around her wrist. Professional photographers were present at all events, and for such a moment they would only hire the very best.

“Marshal,” she greeted, and immediately retreated. Cor liked her immensely. Gripping her camera she simply blended back into the background once more.

Before Cor could sit Amais slipped a quick pillow underneath. Flashing him a grateful look, he sat with a still fussing, complaining Ignis. It was just wide enough for the both of them. Childish hands formed fists and his face had turned a blotchy red but as he came closer to Aulea he sniffled, slowly beginning the uncertain journey to peace. Nonetheless Cor’s arms formed an unbreakable cage. The queen settled back comfortably into her comfortable, casual throne and within her arms her infant had yet to make a peep.

Angling the child towards them as Ignis fell quiet, she beamed at them. “Finally time to meet your nephew,” she joked with weight that Cor couldn’t comprehend. His chest could have burst in the intensity of his heart seizing. “I think he was excited to meet you too. Our little Noctis.”

A steady hand parted the folds around his face. It revealed a slumbering, calm child. Cor’s breath caught in the thickness of his throat and Ignis was finally silent and utterly still.

Remarkably pale and small, Noctis’ tiny lips were parted. He barely seemed to breathe at all. Every detail of his face was miniscule. His mother’s nose was prominent and yet still seemed delicate, malleable, and his closed eyelids appeared paper thin. Nor did he protest as his mother moved, allowing for a better view. It was nigh impossible to believe an infant so small was responsible for the ear splitting shrieks that had been heard throughout the past week.

Behind them Regis would proud and the very picture of a king.  _ For the first time in forever, _ Cor thought with a gentle scoff, but the pride shared between them shone brighter than any star. Regis caught Cor’s eye, his grin lopsided. Somehow the king he was always meant to be and the lanky, shy teen he was had met halfway. 

“Perfectly healthy, mother and child,” he boasted. Reaching out he tucked a loose strand of Aulea’s pale hair behind her ear. Before they parted he stroked a thumb over the softness of her cheek. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

It wasn’t the first time a group looked at Cor so expectantly. It was all too often that Cor would jerk out of a vague fantasy to be met with silence and every eye on him. Just like then Cor hummed aimlessly to fill the quiet.  _ Fishing for compliments, your Majesty? _

As a rule he cared little for babies. Children Ignis’ age were largely acceptable, and Cor knew Ignis himself was a delight and a special case, but babies were delicate and needy and Cor’s patience was a thin strand for adults let alone newborns. But Noctis was certainly beautiful, or perhaps more awe inspiring. Looking past his squished brow and pudgy skin Cor couldn’t help but feel this child was exactly what the public, and the world was waiting for.

Cor’s face twisted up helplessly. “He’s…”

Ignis looked up towards Cor. “Gross,” he finished, face crumpled up in confusion.

Dread had Amais’ face draining of colour. Immediately he stammered frantic apologies but Aulea’s laughter was chief amongst the rest. Mother and father wore matching smiles.

“Ignis,” he scolded. “Your Majesties, I am so, so sorry --”

Aulea’s smile split her face and she shook her head, undisturbed. “He’s not wrong at all. Noctis was much worse after the fact, though.” She craned her head, looking closely at Ignis. “You know, you looked like this once.”

Horror overwhelmed Ignis’ sweet face, thick with disbelief, and then even Amais laughed. Cor finally released him and the child balanced awkwardly on Cor’s thighs, still wild eyes and jaw slack in shock. The revelation silenced him. “I’m sure he’ll be lovely in a month or two, Aulea,” Cor teased lightly.

“Gladio was a real charmer,” Sorrel said dryly. Cor could remember, barely a few years past now but still feeling like it was a matter of months. It was remarkable how the world could shift in nary a moment. Cor recalled all of the anger and resentment he had bundled inside, suppressing it as best he could while wandering lost in a wide, unfamiliar city with a foreign tongue he struggled to learn. He wasn’t perfect. Sometimes he still dreamt of the darkness of that cave, sometimes innocent jokes prickling his skin and making him lash out, still wild to his core but it was easier with family. Now he no longer felt like the odd one out. Now he was part of them, the little brother they cherished, and all of their children would be raised with no knowledge of pain.

Sorrel had spun on, something she joked making her husband roar with booming laughter - and then the world went very still, each expression stricken. Aulea froze, looking to her son whose hands flexed abruptly. Clarus shuddered to silence, chest still shaking with suppressed laughter and there was a quiet until Noctis’ whimpered.

The room exhaled a great heaving sigh. “Clarus,” Sorrel scolded, and her husband wore that old familiar look on his face that each of them knew too well. Sulky, intermixed with guilt. The laughter was a distant memory now. “For shame.”

“My apologies,” he said gruffly but it was far too late. Noctis was writhing, waving his hands as high as he could reach, and Aulea began to rock him carefully. Cooing and rumbling his name, humming gently. It seemed not to soothe him and Noctis began to cry in earnest.

“Don’t fret, sweet thing,” she tried. She nudged at his hands and tickled his cheeks. Turning his head away, skin deepening to a vague red in a matter of moments he cried on unashamed and Ignis looked towards Cor, startled. “Don’t cry,” the queen continued. “Uncle Cor is here. Don’t you want cuddles?”

_ Uncle Cor.  _ It felt like happiness, like Ignis’ little hands reaching for his. Cor swallowed hard. “Should I…?” he began, but immediately faltered. He offered something he couldn’t name.

“It’s alright. He’ll settle,” she pursed her lips, entirely unconvinced by her own words. “Perhaps? We’ll he’s a bit… I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Those cries seemed to taper off for a short while, especially as Aulea’s blunt nails scratched very lightly at his cheeks. But even as the room began to breathe easier they refused to truly cease. Regis placed a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder, face pinched. Aulea only sighed. A full week of a fussy infant had clearly wrung her out to dry, and she looked to Cor with a touch of desperation. “Would you like to…?”

Cor sat sharper than intended. “Huh?”

“You can hold him, if you like,” she smiled, a touch awkwardly. “He’s cuddly. You’re quiet. I think he’ll like you best.”

It seemed unlikely at best, total bullshit at worst. But there were shadows etching themselves beneath her eyes, and a small part of him longed to prove himself a good uncle, to tame the little devil. He nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay,”

Meeting Cor halfway, relieved to be shirking the responsibility for a while, Aulea shuffled forwards. No doubt she was still recovering -- her belly had seemed monstrously huge against her small frame, the Citadel watching with sympathy as she found simply moving a difficulty in the final few weeks. Several days Cor had guided her around the building for fresh air in her wheelchair, keeping her wrapped up warm from the unseasonal August rains. But holding out his hands she slipped her son into his arms and Noctis still wriggled, unhappy at being disturbed. Cor’s confidence wavered dangerously the second Aulea let go and he worked to cradle his prince perfectly. Follow her suggestions, holding him at the right angle, Noctis softened and instead began to snuffle.

“A little more under his head,” she encouraged, and Cor obeyed. Keeping such an active child elevated was a struggle but Cor had never shied away from a challenge. Noctis’ soft head rest carefully against his bicep at not too stark an angle and with Aulea’ fussing he uncertainly began to cradle him, like a lion amongst lambs, a precious life too vulnerable for his comfort.

Noctis felt like nothing. Thin blankets that protected his skin seemed to weigh more. Cor gazed down at him and barely breathed. The boy was a shot in the heart. He continued to whine, struggling against bounds that were not there. Tiny fists struck Cor’s arms. But with time he steadied and calmed, gurgling in clear displeasure, but the cries ceased. Continuing to rock him --  _ just in case, _ Cor told himself -- Aulea softly laughed. “He has a favourite uncle.”

Clarus made a muted sound of protest, unwilling to disturb his prince yet again. Wearing her own grin Sorrel tapped lightly at his arm. But Aulea only had eyes for Noctis. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “He loves you already, it seems,” she said quietly and only for Cor’s ears. Their little secret, between family. At the thought Cor’s mouth dried out. Her hand came and she straightened out the blankets and a little hand covered hers.

Ignis touched like he feared blistering heat. When positive he would not be scolded he hovered, drawing his fingertips down along the queen’s knuckles, and down across the soft blankets. He busied himself with Noctis’ hands. In response he grunted, patting at all who dared touched him, horribly grumpy. Brow furrowing, blue eyes abruptly opened, unfocused as they were, and looked out towards Ignis’ awed face. It took their breath away. 

Cor hadn’t been sure what to expect. But he hadn’t anticipated for the boy to be such a perfect mix of mother and father, the sweeping shock of dark hair and the crystalline blue, and the strong personality that overwhelmed them all.

“Did,” Cor’s voice cracked, and he struggled to begin again. “Did you wash your hands earlier, Iggy?”

He nodded distractedly. “Uh-huh.”

Aulea huffed a small laugh. She swept her hand over her son’s head, reorganizing a mess of black fuzz. It was hard to control the impulse to touch. How soft was he, Cor wondered? “Do you like him, Igs?”

Lost in the sight, Ignis only nodded again. “Uh-huh,” he repeated, and withdrew to poke at Noctis’ covered feet. He smiled shyly when Noctis pedalled his legs in response. As Ignis prodded and played Cor watched the child’s face closely. It laxed, going from hazy frustration to pure curiosity, what little focus he possessed channeled into feeling and avoiding Ignis’ sure touch. Those eyes peered upwards, chancing over Cor’s own face, and stared. For the gaze of a week old child it felt alarmingly piercing. In front of Noctis, Cor could hold no secrets.

“Hard to believe we thought to bring in Gladio last in case he kept poking the baby,” he thought he heard Aulea tease but she made no move to stop either of them. In a heartbeat she had simply become part of the backdrop. Voices murmured again, questions and answers, jokes and laughter. Cor paid no heed. Above them all was Noctis’ soft, moody grunts.

Without thinking Cor nudged his soft pink cheek with his index finger. Such an urge came from a sudden loss of control, the desire to know how soft a child could be, and Noctis’ skin was perfectly malleable under his. As smooth as marble, as hot as the sunlight. 

At the touch Noctis’ mouth formed a little circle in surprise. Making gentle noises he turned his head towards his hand, reaching out blindly and petting. The world around them fell away in shards. Cor focused in on his nephew, the brightest amongst them all.

“Hello,” Cor greeted and Noctis started. Grasping for Cor he held on fast to his fingertip. It was impressive how strong he was already. With time the Lucian magic would manifest in his blood. When he came of age his training would begin. But Cor pushed the thought aside -- Noctis’ strength was innocent. A child would just be that, and Cor was not prematurely make a weapon of him.

Hair tickled Cor’s bicep. Ignis leaned in against his uncle, content at last teasing at Noctis’ foot. It felt nothing short of surreal. Ignis was warm and Noctis was soft as cotton, and Cor couldn’t help himself but indulge in their unconditional adoration.

Ducking down he pressed his mouth against Noctis’ little forehead. Against his dry lips Noctis snorted loudly, going abruptly still and releasing Cor’s finger. Withdrawing before the infant could complain, he prayed that his scratchy facial hair wasn’t too rough against his cheeks. Ignis might have loved the feeling but Noctis looked stunned. Unable to resist, Cor swept up his tiny palm and kissed it sweetly, letting it linger for only as long as it took to breathe.

For a moment, Cor could have sworn Noctis’ lips formed a smile. It disappeared as soon as it formed but his hazy eyes remained towards Cor’s face, his lips fluttering, and Noctis’ legs had stilled. Cor gazed back, lost in the depths of his spell.

That’s wonderful,” Aulea suddenly declared, overwhelmed with delight, and the dull world outside of the children deepened once more. Caught off guard, Cor looked up.

Aulea and her photographer were pressed close, head to head, dark hair against light. Aulea’s hands were clasped together and her smile was brilliant, looking towards the camera offered to her. When she met Cor’s eyes, hers were bright with pleasure. “Maran managed to capture the moment,” she declared, just smug enough, and Cor’s could feel how his face fell. “Don’t fret. It’s a lovely image.”

“You’re joking,” Cor spoke flatly. Maran’s self satisfied smile only widened. She pulled her camera close as if to protect it. “That’s not getting released.”

“Oh, no,” the queen agreed. “One for the personal collection, I think.” Turning that smile to Ignis, wonderful though Cor would be loathe to admit it, both women wore gleams in their eye. Readying her camera, Maran backed away and waited for Ignis to look up. “Iggy, would you like to hold Noctis too?”

Ignis looked up sharply. If the camera bothered him he made no complaint. “Please?”

“Of course. If your father is willing…?”

Even if the reluctance was clear in every inch of his tense frame, Amais nodded. “If you stay next to Cor, yes,” he agreed, and came a little closer. Touching Ignis’ shoulder, he smiled when his son looked up and beamed. “Open up your arms, Iggy,” he asked, and when he was obeyed without hesitation Cor allowed Noctis to inch out of his arms, far more reluctantly than he intended. Noctis made no protest and Ignis straightened up, expression suddenly deeply serious. The businesslike look nearly made Cor laugh. “Are you ready?”

Ignis nodded solemnly, spreading his arms just a little too far. Murmuring carefully to correct him, Amais’ hands coaxing them just an inch back together, Cor passed the infant over. Remaining in constant contact until Noctis was settled sure and comfortably in Ignis’ lap, he missed the warmth of him like he had lost a physical part of him. A terrible cold seeped in. Cor felt that little bit emptier. 

To make up for it, Cor slung an arm around Ignis. Ignoring the awkward and invasive feeling the camera gave, he smiled a little. “Comfortable, champ?”

Ignis didn’t respond. Noctis murmured quietly and closed his brilliant eyes once more, lips softly smacking. “Noct,” Ignis muttered to himself, as if trying out the name, and Cor knew his swelling heart wasn’t alone. Even if Maran hoovered to close for comfort, even if Noctis began to wail only minutes later when parted from his new friend to be reunited with his father, the lightness of Cor’s heart and the power of Ignis’ smile would not lift.

“Noct,” Ignis repeated, watching his prince closely and squirming from Cor to toddle determinedly after his king, and Cor could only smile. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. ignis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Papa,” a little voice complained, a touch sulkily and abruptly Cor was wide awake.
> 
> He blinked hard to cast sleepiness aside. Grunting, he sat up a little and took in the world around him -- still dark, and he couldn’t see the time on the clock. Time seemed to have barely passed. No light or noise filtered through the tall windows. No life moved around him bar those eager hands that suddenly grasped his cheeks, pulling at his skin a little roughly, and Cor turned to find Ignis peering up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note for this chapter: prompto is now in the mix and cor is now with his bf, so ignis now refers to him as his father. i'm trying to keep these in chronological order to be less confusing, but thought i'd write a note just in case!
> 
> also, offhandedly, i don't have any ideas for the forehead kiss for adult prompto! if there's anything particular you might like to see, let me know. thanks :)

Sometimes the peace that came with silence could be a blessing. Mostly, it simply sat uneasily inside the cavern of Cor’s chest.

The open hallway was void of sound or life. Pitch black, the sole sources of light were far beyond him. They were the rows of bright street lamps across the road that Cor cut off with a careful click of his closing front door. Every single window in their quiet neighbourhood had been dark. Cor had been a strange mix of relieved and disappointed to find his home matching. Every adult and child were long since abed at this hour on a Tuesday morning.

Well. A Wednesday, now. As Cor had made his agonizingly long journey home to the very heart of Insomnia the traffic had been practically non existent even on the motorways. Once Cor had drifted off and entered the side roads and backstreets it had thinned out quickly. By the time he found himself in residential roads the cars had long since disappeared. Radio stations played night time chill tunes. Crooning and voices and soft guitars came dangerously close to lulling him to sleep. All week out in the wilderness beyond the Wall he had dreamed of the softness of his bed versus the poor protection a thin sleeping bag offered him. The rocky, frozen ground was a cruelty.

But finally he was home. He could shrug off the weight of what he had done to survive.

To begin he toed off his heavy boots. They were muddied and the strings were beginning to fray. Kicking them carelessly to one side he hazily, barely noted the unfamiliar pair of shoes lined up on the wooden rack. Black loafers sized for an adult were neat against messy and colourful children’s trainers. They were almost as bad as Cor’s, the same way they always were when the children had visited Kingsview Park and played along the shallow river. The very idea brought a weak smile to his face.

Dropping his bag, he stretched languidly. Something inside popped hard and he grunted. Nudging his satchel out the way he shed his jacket awkwardly, tired limbs unwilling to obey orders.. Errant claws from a dying sabretooth had left an unfortunate rip in the left arm, just deep enough to make Cor’s forearm sluggishly bleed. A job for another day. It would not do the make a mistake in fixing because he couldn’t wait until the daylight. Meanwhile, he listened for the slightest noise. It had only been a few shorts weeks since Prompto had -- as close as Citadel doctors could testify -- turned two years old. He had developed even more than Cor had been warned. A sickly infant often too weak to cry had grown into a happy young toddler. When Cor hoisted him up to tickle his heavy belly he would shriek with laughter and lightly slap his own father’s face, flushed with joy. As he grew bigger he became louder, fussier, especially when he woke in the dead of night. Cor was often woken by his cries but tonight Prompto was silent. Dead asleep.

It was a mixed bag of strong emotion. It was nigh impossible to get such an energetic child to sleep -- but after so long of being away, he knew that a little Prompto therapy was what he needed for a good night’s rest. A headache pulsed with all the intensity of a pick digging in.

Tomorrow, then. It would not do to wake his son simply for his own state of mind.

Cor wandered forward after locking the door, past the shoe rack and the table for the keys and fistfuls of take out pamphlets. He glanced with a smile at the framed photographs that had almost overtaken his painted white walls. All the expensive art he had been gifted over the years by strangers looking for his favour had either been regifted or stuffed away in a wardrobe. He had to step cautiously over a few abandoned toys, teddies and a plastic basilisk. It was broken - a piece of feather lay several feet away. Cor’s bedroom was far, having to lumber halfway across the expansive apartment and past the children’s rooms. Then he would have to attempt sliding into bed without waking his slumbering boyfriend, the two of them gradually coming up to two years together themselves. Tempting as it was, they deserved their rest. 

Waking them was too risky. The sofa that had come with the apartment many years ago was for aesthetic rather than practicality, all rich and expensive black leather, but it was far better than the cold hard floor.

Sighing, Cor dropped down roughly with a squeak of air escaping from the cushions, and then across the house the darkness burst into dim light. It wasn’t far. In the quiet he caught the click as clear as day. Looking across sharply, the tenseness of his muscles jerked him awake, to alertness. The children were not yet tall enough to reach the lights alone. Amais was no doubt shuffling, yawning widely, and Cor smiled until a wild haired woman came around the corner, bare feet against cool tile.

She rubbed hard at her eyes. But she slowed to a stop at the door frame between living room and the next hallway, and offered him a tired but polite smile.

“Hello, Marshal,” she greeted. Arare, one of the part time caretakers assigned to the children of assistants to the Crown, wore checkered pajamas and her hair up in a ponytail. An air of content exhaustion rest easy upon her. “How was your trip?”

“Ah,” Cor began uncertainty and then carefully cleared his throat. Arare was close to a stranger. Harmless, but Cor couldn’t deny the instincts that had served him well. “It was interesting. I’ve reported back to the barracks, and I’ll report to His Majesty personally first thing tomorrow.”

“Good, good,” she said through a yawn. “I apologise for intruding. Mr Scientia was with your boys up until last night but I’m afraid His Highness was taken ill and Her Majesty requested his presence.”

Cor froze up. “Is Noct alright?”

“Oh, yes. Just a bit of a cold, I think. Mr Scientia has been in close contact asking about you and His Highness seems to be in higher spirits.” She tilted her head with a knowing smile. “Could I get you a drink, my lord?”

Holding back an unhappy grunt as his title, he shook his head. He let himself rest back against the cushion and his entire body protested violently. The leather cracked beneath his weight. “No, no. But thank you, for coming too. I’m sorry I woke you.” The thought of not seeing Amais this night or even first thing in the morning was souring, no charming wobbly smile or warm brown eyes, but he swallowed it down no matter how tough. “I’ll be fine with the children tomorrow -- you’re welcome to stay, of course, but I’ll make sure you get the day off tomorrow, if you like.”

That smile spread wider, bringing colour to her cheeks. “Thank you! I can make your family breakfast before I go. You must be exhausted.”

Cor’s unsated stomach gnawed at the thought. He was almost sick to death of the trout he had caught and cooked for himself each day. Even toast would be one hell of a delicacy. “Thank you. That would be wonderful. I’m happy to drive you home or to the Citadel afterwards - I’m sure Jared would be happy to take on the challenge of the boys.”

She laughed a little too loudly at the thought. Starting, she hurriedly looked over to the darkness beyond her shoulder. They waited but when no little voices sounded, no distant rustle of bedsheets, they both relaxed. “Thanks,” she said, and stepped backwards. “I’m in the guest room, closest to Prompto. Sleep well, my Lord.”

With nothing further Arare disappeared beyond the door close to the very end of the hall. Glancing over at the clock high on the wall just before the light died, he saw it read three-fifty two am. Cor swore to himself. A few measly hours wouldn’t be enough energy for the long day ahead of him. But they would be something, he supposed, and his children’s infectious excitement would fuel him with any luck.

The light was extinguished. Once again his home was silent and still. Cor treated himself to closed heavy eyes and sinking further down, crossing his arms against his chest. Heating warmed the room and Cor’s bones. It was a delight compared to the creeping cold of the unfeeling world beyond. If he never saw those dull sands again for the rest of the year it would be too much too soon.

Behind his eyes something pulsed. Focusing on his breathing and closing his eyes helped. He felt groggy, grungy in every way. A dip in a river was nothing compared to a working shower and Cor longed for a good long soak in their deep bath for his overworked, aching muscles and to clear off the worst of his sweat. Even the ‘glaives on duty had wrinkled their noses at him and laughed. But with a two year old, that had become impossible.

Groaning, he rubbed forcefully at his face. Rough bristles agitated his skin.  _ Gods _ , he needed a shave. He needed to get out of these disgustingly stained and sweaty, torn clothes. But it could wait until the light of morning after as much rest as he could enjoy. Perhaps, if they were lucky, he could sneak in and out of a quick shower before the children even stirred.

Cor slipped into a pleasant, reassuring darkness for what could have been a few hours. It could also have been a few seconds before a palm was lightly scratching at his scruffy cheek. It was light but insistent, and Cor snuffled and snorted. He turned his head away.

“Mm,” he said, and hands were at his shoulder. 

“Papa,” a little voice complained, a touch sulkily and abruptly Cor was wide awake.

He blinked hard to cast sleepiness aside. Grunting, he sat up a little and took in the world around him -- still dark, and he couldn’t see the time on the clock. Time seemed to have barely passed. No light or noise filtered through the tall windows. No life moved around him bar those eager hands that suddenly grasped his cheeks, pulling at his skin a little roughly, and Cor turned to find Ignis peering up at him. 

The child was enamoured, his eyes surprisingly bright for so late or early an hour. Tufts of his hair stood abruptly on end and his thick rimmed glasses were wonky. Little hands squeezed and Cor softly laughed, the speed of his heart relaxing.

“Hey, Iggy,” he greeted his adoptive son, and his voice was rough, dry like he had taken a mouthful of the Leide sand. “What’re you doing up?”

“Thirsty,” he said simply, and leaned forward to get a better look. He refused to let go of his father’s face, but his own creased up, appalled. “You smell!”

_ Charming.  _ Cor laughed a little. Sitting up fully though every part of him protested with a stab of discomfort, back uncomfortable against the arm rest, he opened his arms up wide. “Do I still get a welcome home hug? I was lonely out there.”

Reluctance on a four year old’s face was a hilarious thing. Cor laughed at him, belly clenching with the failed urge to withhold it. Ignis still wriggled forward, trying to steady his knee on the sofa. Little arms wrapped themselves around Cor’s neck and he settled his own around Ignis’ tiny frame. He closed his eyes, basking in the affection. Ignis smelt like their soap and his pajamas were thick wool, covered in little paw prints.They were freshly washed and warm. Mismatched pink and purple socks covered his feet.

“You should go back to bed,” Cor mumbled but never let go even for a second. “It’s late. Daddy will be sad if he finds out I kept you up.”

Ignis ignored him. He made himself very comfortable on Cor’s lap. “I missed you.”

Squeezing him a little closer, Ignis’ warmth seemed to banish all of his aches. “I missed you too, little one. Happy to be home.”

“Did you go to the beach?” Ignis pulled away to analyse him closely. Bright green eyes gleamed. Though his expression was indignant he still didn’t let Cor go. “Daddy promised we’d all go!”

“Sorry, Igs,” he mussed up the boy’s hair, pulling very gently at the lobe of his ear. Ignis murmured softly in complaint, smacking at Cor’s wrist until he stopped. “I went somewhere really boring. But maybe we can go for your birthday.”

The child sagged. “That’s ages away.”

And, if they were lucky, Ignis would forget. There was no way Cor would take children outside the safety of the king’s Wall. A pop beach at the mall or the lake within the Royal Animal Observation park would have to do -- Cor would not risk the wild garula that lumbered across the road with no forewarning, nor the horrors that emerged in the dark. Such twisted creatures were not fit for children’s eyes.

“Sorry, champ,” he said vaguely, before steaming ahead. “You should go to bed. Wouldn’t want to wake Amare, or Prom.”

Fortunately Ignis’ easily distracted nature let the beach slide. “I’m not tired,” he insisted, but no longer content where he was he clambered higher. Bony knees dug into Cor’s thighs. If Cor truly stank then it could clearly go ignored. “Prom wanted my bed. He keeps kicking me.”

“Yeah?” Supporting Ignis’ tiny body with a broad hand against his lower back Cor settled down again. The headache had finally lifted. “Kick him back?”

Ignis looked at him, scandalized. “Daddy!”

“Whoops. I’m sorry, Igs.” Cor huffed his laughter, grinning toothily. Despite his outrage Ignis didn’t budge. The child was a pleasant weight against his chest and a moral beacon, and Cor was proud to call him son. “You can get in my bed, if you want.”

A little cheek squished on his sternum. Ignis rumbled like a self satisfied kitten. “Comfy,” he insisted, his glasses akimbo. Even so he attempted to burrow down, ignoring the plastic sticking against his face. 

“Bed’ll be better. You might get cold out here,” he tried to point out. But Ignis didn’t budge. He murmured something, barely loud enough for even Cor to hear so close by, and he caught the ghost of  _ comfy.  _ With a soft laugh, he patted his back. “Alright,” he said, and wrapped his arms around his son. “Come on buddy. Let’s go.”

Shifting, Cor attempted to sit up and get to his feet with Ignis still in his arms -- and Ignis erupted, writhing in his father’s arms. Little limbs flailed, scrambling with determination. “Comfy!” He insisted loudly, and Cor was almost winded by a wild foot to his belly. Laughing as loudly as he dared, Cor collapsed back down, thrown off balance and decidedly defeated. One foot remained off the sofa. Ignis settled across his lap and belly again. Displeasure darkened eyes glowered at nothing until Cor rubbed over his scalp reassuringly, laughing, rubbing behind his ears. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Yes!” Ignis declared. “You’re my pillow.”

“I guess it’s as good a life as any,” Cor said mostly to himself and allowed to sofa to form around him, creaking all the while. As an aside he made a mental note to shop for a new sofa - something comfier, more suitable for children. Prompto loathed having his nails trimmed. It was all too often that he became too excited and scratched at the fabric. Relaxing there was hard with such weight against him, but Ignis’ soft mutters would send him adrift in no time at all. The arm rest may have forced his head at an awkward angle now and he knew all too well that his neck would have a terrible crick come the morning, the cushions even less kind than he might have hoped, but Ignis was smiling. In the moment that was all that mattered.

That adoring head settled over Cor’s heart. Ignis sighed heavily, the same way a puppy did when he was settling down for the long hall. Little hands clung to his shirt, thankfully not noticing the long scratch on his father’s arm. Cor listened closely to his soft breathing. It was a comfort, a delight after a full week of working alone. Cold nights had frozen him to his very core, but even just a look at his son helped him thaw out. In the morning, Prompto would render him nothing more than a puddle of a man. At the Citadel Amais would draw him back together with simply a smile and a kiss.

Cor intended to bask for the few moments and listening to the breathing even out. He closed his eyes and in the quiet the only interruption was Ignis’ shuffling. Reaching to his son he traced a small pattern just behind the shell of his ear. “I’ll make pancakes tomorrow to make it all up,” he murmured to him, and his voice was raw, rough again as he dithered, caught between rest and reality. “I didn’t want to leave any of you for so long. “I’m sorry, champ.”

There was no response. The boy didn’t even budge. Cor waited and then finally opened his eyes. Peering down at his chest he found Ignis dead asleep, lips parted, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks.

“Iggy?” He tried.

That angelic face didn’t stir. His once determined fingers laxed and freed Cor’s shirt but he was a stifling, immovable weight on Cor’s chest. Prompto had been the same as an infant, liable to wail if he was ever slightly removed from Cor’s chest. Ignis breathed quietly, softly, and Cor could never bear to disturb him by carrying him out to bed.

As gently as he could, Cor reached and took hold of his glasses. Clumsily pulling them free he folded them and tucked them into his shirt for safe keeping. He ruffled Ignis’ hair as playfully as he dared and pressed his lip to Ignis’ smooth, unmarred forehead as a comfort and apology, brushing a few stray locks out of his way. The boy ran hot, silken smooth against him, and while Cor knew he must leave his family again, a dozen more times, it still felt as awful as the very first time. 

An unsteady breath emerged from Ignis. He mumbled, barely audible, and Cor left another sweet kiss between his brows simply to see them furrow.

“Good boy,” he murmured and he swore that for a brief moment a smile graced Ignis’ lips.

With an exhale he let his head thud back. It seemed to reverberate in his skull. Still cradling Ignis’ little head he breathed just as softly. 

In the morning he would need to pop a painkiller or two. Currently he would be sweating through the night and terrified of accidentally waking Ignis. But he wasn’t alone -- wasn’t shivering atop a haven on a lonely hillside, filthy and bone tired, and that was what mattered most.

Cor closed his eyes again, basked, and to him it was barely a minute later that he woke to chubby little hands alongside two delighted voices, and the perfect warmth of sunlight.

  
  
  



	3. gladio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a secret.”  
> There were no secrets that the Amicitia family kept. Not from Cor. He knew every single board of wood, every single drawer, every single piece of dust. But he played along. Humming in interest, he said, “Keeping stuff from your mom and dad, kid?”  
> Turning his head Gladio gave him a surprisingly adult, incredulous look. “No!” He said, like it was obvious. They kept walking -- further than Cor expected, until they finally stopped dead outside a silent door that Cor had come to know very well. “I’m a good boy.”

In the madness that had become the downstairs floor of the Amicitia household, the creak of the staircase should have been lost amongst the constant din. But after years of attuning himself to quickly react to each suspicious and unexplained noise, Cor sharply turned his head and stared. The hounds that lay at his feet looked up too. Their ears perked, though they did not yet growl.

At his ear Drautos droned on. One thing, another, small and serious concerns piling up with the intent to overwhelm. Chaos had overturned what should have been a peaceful night. Papers were strewn before him and empty coffee mugs served secondary purposes as paper weights. Clarus sat opposite him, just as disastrous with dirty plates laden with meals that had only been picked at, criss crossed cutlery. There was little time that Jared could spare to scrape together food for them and even less time for it to be eaten.

There was a vein bulging in Clarus’ temple. If Cor looked closely enough, he might have suspected that his once thick hair was thinning, beginning the slow and devastating process of receding. Wisely, Cor thought, he said nothing. He had watched as Clarus hissed down the phone to Monica, running a hand through his shock of wild hair, but now he glowered towards the stairs. It had been manic since Cor arrived at six in the evening, driving over directly past his shift at the Citadel. Clarus had been thumping up and down the stairs, Jared in and out with Sorrel nowhere to be seen. Both were harried men with a thousand different apologies and excuses -  _ my deepest apologies, Master Leonis, my lady requested another glass _ or  _ sorry, Cor, this baby is giving Sorrel all the grief in the world.  _ A thousand duties that all tumbled down upon them at once, and Cor would carry as many burdens for his loved ones as he could -- and then more if necessary. If trawling through Clarus’ neglectated mounds of papers they loathed equally or being present for Sorrel’s nightly foot rubs and pep talks could relieve any pains, he would do it. All the paper cuts and eye strain would be worth it.

There was shifting at the very top of the stairs that drew Cor’s attention. Drautos faded out into a murmur, Clarus’ stubborn complaining exiting stage left, and Cor abruptly stood. Clarus seemed not to notice, now rubbing hard at his temple and muttering frayed prayers.

“Yeah, alright,” Cor murmured, fuelling the lieutenant a while longer. He stepped out of the parlor, eyes locked onto that barely visible shadow that wavered --  and then it cleared to reveal a little soul, and he paused at the foot of the stairs, softening, the harshness of his expression melting away. “Hey, listen, can I--”

Downtrodden gold eyes watched him from the perch on high. Cor’s met his, and Gladio quickly hung his head and averted his gaze as if he were ashamed. He wore his favourite pair of pajamas, the set Regis brought him for his birthday only a few months past. Time seemed to move so quickly. While the boy was still small for his age his limbs were long, lanky, and if his mother and father were any indication Gladio would grow and grow until he was a hulking teen at only fourteen. Already his legs were a little too long for the pants, ankles exposed to the cool air. But Gladio had pulled the sleeves down to make paws of his hands. They looked soft and terribly stretched.

Drautos droned on obtusely while Cor’s heart ached. “This is a mess,” the man growled. “I want your permission to chase this bastard up, in full purview of His Majesty--”

“I’ll call you back,” Cor said vaguely, and abruptly hung up. He shoved his phone in his pocket and tried his best to smile. “Hey, Gladio-- what’s up, champ?”

He shifted from side to side. Lifting his sleeve to chew at the fabric, Gladio said nothing. He stared down at his socks, where his big toe poked out from a widening hole, and sniffed hard.

Cor glanced out towards Clarus almost looking for guidance. There was none to be found. Gladio’s father remained completely unawares, eyes closed and expression tightly pinched. There was clattering and soft voices from up and along the hall where Sorrel’s private resting quarters were, kept away from the distracting bustle. Now used to the noise the dogs had settled back down, alert eyes still on the doorway but their heads on their huge paws. Gladio sat silently in the midst of it all.

While he had a few years practise, Cor still found it tough to sweeten up. While he had never been as cloying as perhaps some children needed, he was always genuine -- he loved his godson as much as he loved his own children, and he stepped forward to do what he must. As the steps creaked under his weight the phone began to vibrate again in his pocket.

“Do you need water? Juice?” He asked, and Gladio looked back up. Those brilliant eyes stared, the same as his mother’s. They shared much more similarities than Gladio and his father. She had gifted him her thick hair, her Galadhan skin, and the twist of sharp humour that endeared her to all. In this moment, Gladio seemed incapable of wit.

“Where’s Dad?” His voice was tiny, and his attention was taken by any barely significant noise. Once there was a flurry of it all around, with Jared’s always slow and heavy footed, and Sorrel’s grumbled complaints as she did her best to waddle across the too long halls, but that was many weeks ago before she was pushed into bed rest. Clarus did his best to make up for the lack of noise from upstairs, barking orders or swearing complaints down his phone. Jared did his best assigned permanently to her care and they resided strictly in her rooms. The baby, several weeks to her due date, showed no interest in anything but brutalising her mother from within. The stress of the home was nonstop, with a suffering expectant mother and stressed out, busy father, with the Amicitia hounds braying at any single noise from the gardens. As to not disturb Sorrel’s rest they were disallowed from the upstairs and often boarded in their kennels overnight, left within the dining room as the evening fell, and Cor wondered how many times he had missed Gladio’s search for attention within the mix. Amicitia life was frequently a challenge, and it was alien to see Gladio so very subdued.

But Cor pushed all of that aside. The world beyond didn’t matter anymore. Clarus groaned, swore, and while Drautos was still determined for him to pick up he went completely ignored. “Doing boring adult stuff,” he joked with lightness he couldn’t feel. “What do you need?”

Peering down at the glow of light and then along the upper floor, towards the muted rooms of his mother, Gladio’s mouth was sharply downturned. Jared had not emerged in the past hour. Cor hadn’t heard much of Sorrel’s voice all week. Even with those missing faces, he had not thought for even a moment about the child lost in the house. A part of him supposed that Gladio wasn’t interested in the rush of adult affairs or had been busy with all of his etiquette and academic tutoring. But Cor knew he had not been looking. It was entirely possible he had steamrolled over a child that wanted his focus, and the thought of it hurt.

Gladio must have been stifled, overwhelmed. Distant from his hassled father, held at arm's length from his shattered mother, and Jared caught between too many worlds. Such a childhood was not meant for any child, let alone one as sweet as Gladio. Cor hated how small Gladio had made himself.

Another step, and another. Cor held out his arms for his godson. “C’mon,” he called. Crooking his fingers he bent to Gladio’s height, the two of them eye to eye. “It’s pretty late. Do you want to tell me about your day? I can tell you about mine.” While creativity was never quite his forte, he could think up enough lies or exaggerated truths to keep him entertained. He told dozens to the Council each month.

Gladio met his eyes. “Can we go see mom?”

Crushing his hope damn near made Cor sick to his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said, and ached when Gladio deflated. The little boy was always so eager, clambering up for hugs and tugging determindley at fingers until an adult caved and held his hand. Now, he shied away. “Hey, it’s okay. Maybe tomorrow?”

No response. Gladio’s sleeve was beginning to fray, threads soaked with saliva. He stood, backing up the stairs, and faced with complete defeat Cor was hopeless. “Dad said that yesterday.”

“I’ll talk with him,” Cor promised and when he reached the very top of the stairs the mobile in his pocket began to ring again. He cursed Drautos’ insistence but never let his false mood falter. “Maybe you can even make something for her. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Despite his reluctance, Gladio finally spoke without the aid of his sleeve. Those eyes searched Cor’s, as if looking for truth. Something cleared up in his darkened expression, and it looked like sunlight coming through the clouds. “Yeah?”

“Sure. I can help you out, if you want.” Taking the hint that he couldn’t push his luck, Cor dropped his arms. Instead he squat down carefully on one of the highest steps. Caught between darkness and light, he cast a short shadow. “Maybe Dad too.”

“Breakfast?”

Cor withheld his wince. He had heard the consequences of Sorrel attempting near enough any meal. The most memorable occasion was pancakes with blueberries, and he had aided a despondent Jared in the cleaning up. “We’ll see how she feels in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Gladio replied, remaining a touch downtrodden but managing for the first time a modest smile. Leaning up, he hooked his fingers in one of Cor’s belt loops and tugged. “I don’t wanna go to bed yet.”

It was long dark outside. Cor had truly lost track of his time in the heaps of paperwork but he knew Amais would have long put Ignis to bed, and he was permitted to stay up an hour later than Prompto and Noctis because of his age. It would be poor show for a royal guardsman of Cor’s distinction to let a single child run rings around him. But Gladio’s hands were eager, his eyes trusting and rimmed pink from gods only knew how long alone.

Cor um’ed and ah’ed, pressured under his godson’s charms. The power an Amicitia held was undeniable even in their youth. “Have you been good today,” he asked helplessly.

Those hands pulled harder. Gladio finally smiled truly, ear to ear. He lifted up onto his tiptoes and Cor had to hold tight to the banister in order to stop them both careening down the stairs. That, he thought, might finally made Clarus look up from the finance reports. “Yeah,” Gladio insisted. “I did all my homework. You can ask Jared - he gave me a cookie after.”

“That’s good,” Cor hummed, and pretended to consider it. He wavered on his feet, still on boots slipping against the carpet, and Gladio whined. “Ten minutes, then, as long as you don’t tell your parents.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gladio crowed, voice a touch too loud in the quiet. Cor didn’t dare hush him. He danced in his excitement, a whole new boy. Tapping from foot to foot eagerly, Cor resting a hand against his chest in the fear he might lose his footing and tumble down, he declared, “I want to show you something!”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Gladio stuck out a hand. Cor accepted it without hesitation, tiny and chubby compared to his own. He was careful closing around it to not cause discomfort but Gladio didn’t falter. As if he was bigger and stronger he pulled his godfather down the empty hall, past every noble painting of his ancestors and all the firmly shut doors. No sound came from a single one. No lights were on beyond.

Gladio’s room was closer to the stairs for ease of access, some shockingly bright wilderbeast warning stickers slapped on the old oak. Under the crack of the door there was one sole light left on. They steamed past it and Cor raised a brow. There were a thousand things being abandoned behind him and little left ahead. Ten minutes might have not been much to spare for a child, but it was still a good chunk of what little time Cor had left. He tried to ignore the impulse to hurry along and get back to work. “Where are we going, buddy?”

The boy tugged a little harder. “It’s a secret.”

There were no secrets that the Amicitia family kept. Not from Cor. He knew every single board of wood, every single drawer, every single piece of dust. But he played along. Humming in interest, he said, “Keeping stuff from your mom and dad, kid?”

Turning his head Gladio gave him a surprisingly adult, incredulous look. “No!” He said, like it was obvious. They kept walking -- further than Cor expected, until they finally stopped dead outside a silent door that Cor had come to know very well. “I’m a good boy.”

“Of course,” Cor nodded as seriously as he could. “I’m sorry, Gladio.”

Gladio tipped his head in response and then turned away in sudden, childlike disinterest. He rose up on his tiptoes and fumbled for the door knob. It took several attempts but Cor knew better than to try and offer help. The boy grunted with satisfaction when his fingers hooked and the door swung open. It was nothing but darkness inside and it still stank of a fresh layer of paint from Cor’s last attempt at helping out.

Attempting comadre, Cor made a show of groping as aimlessly for the switch as he dared pretend. Before their eyes could adjust to the dark it burst into light. And it was exactly as they had left it -- empty buckets abandoned with planks of wood balanced, only half of them currently set into the walls. Stained brushes were dumped on old tarp.

Together he and Clarus had made a meal of the dresser. They had defeated Niffs, daemons, would be assassins and they struggled to build a godsdamn child’s dresser. With a desperate attempt to salvage the mess he had balanced a single, solitary teddy bear atop what was supposed to be the top drawer. The baby’s first.

Gladio looked towards Cor expectantly, and just a few beats off cue Cor gasped. He took in every familiar detail. He had painted these walls, twice. Pale yellow as per Sorrel’s express wishes, and then navy when every soul in the household loathed the sight of it. He had thrown down the tarp to protect the laminate flooring and helped Clarus fail at making sure everything was perfectly angled. Gladio had been with his tutors all day, always, blissfully unaware of how his family worked hard. “Wow,” Cor said, faux awed. “Did you do this?”

“Yeah,” Gladio preened, and Cor grinned. “Dad helped a bit.”

“Great job,” Cor murmured and stepped fully inside. The room had been a guest bedroom only a few short months ago. Gutted out the moment Sorrel’s tests had all be uniform positive, they had steadily worked on filling it back up. It had been a nightmare all on its own to break up the queen sized bed. Getting in and piecing together the rocking chair was a horrible adventure but it was worth it to see Clarus and Sorrel both beaming, hands joined, filled with excitement for their second born. Sorrel kept a hand on her belly even as it had yet to show, in love with the continuation of her family while Clarus spoke a million words a minute about baby onesies, tiny feet, delicate lashes. Gladio’s little sibling loved no matter how they came into the world, another friend for their prince, a companion for life to help carry on the Amicitia name. And then the baby was revealed to be a girl, and Clarus’ excitement only grew.

Gladio had wondered out to the dresser while Cor had remained deeply lost in thought. Childish hands pulled out a drawer and delved into a mass of fabric, messing up Jared’s immaculate folding.

“I wanna show you,” Gladio declared, and he was jerked out of his dreams.

Mounds of pnesies were dumped onto the floor. Cor winced but Gladio hummed jauntily to himself. He searched, shovelling out armfuls of colour. There were blue onesies, pink onesies, white, and purple. Some bore stripes and polka dots. It was far too many for a baby that would grow all to quickly but Clarus could not be contained.

Gladio dug and dug, until he cried out with delight. Pushing away everything unwanted he urged, “Look!”

Producing a onesie that looked much too small to contain a living, breathing infant, Gladio looked terribly smug. It was plain black, unfamiliar to Cor’s eyes, and it read  _ I love my big brother. _

This time Cor couldn’t withhold his smile. He laughed, brimming with a flood of a feeling that would have been foreign to him just a decade ago, and Gladio’s returning, rejuvenated smile was just as bold. “Did you buy that for your sister?”

Gladio nodded eagerly. “Dad helped me! It’s a secret from mom.”

“She’ll love it. And maybe after the baby comes, we can get a matching shirt for you.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, but it came late and he dropped his hands. His smile faltered a little. “Yeah,” he repeated and bunched the fabric in his fists somewhat carelessly. Looking past Cor towards the door they left wide open for an uncertain moment, he asked with furrowed brows, “Will mom come back when the baby comes?”

_ Oh. _

Caught completely off guard, Cor awkwardly knelt. His joints protested. Sometimes it was bewildering to remember that he was a grown man, speaking to the child of two of his closest friends. The floor was cold and hard and dust stained his dark jeans. “She hasn’t gone anywhere, Gladio,” he told him, and tilted his head. Gladio’s eyes were large but his shoulders slumped. “What do you mean?”

It was like the subdued sadness on the stairs came back in a terrible rush. There were days or even longer of hurting for attention, and Gladio’s nervous hands fussed over the gift.

He said nothing, avoiding Cor’s glance once again until his godfather shuffled closer. “Gladio?”

Reluctantly, Gladio looked back up. “Mom and dad don’t say goodnight anymore.”

“I see,” Cor replied, and felt terribly adrift. It wasn’t the waves that froze him, nor squeezed at his throat. He remained helpless. It was all he could do to say, “I’m sorry, Gladio.”

The onesie was dropped amongst the rest unceremoniously. The sleeve was promptly returned to Gladio’s mouth. The boy murmured, face breaking up into tiny fragments, words incomprehensible. Cor leaned in. “I didn’t catch that, champ. Can you take your sleeve out?”

Gladio obeyed hesitantly, as upset as he began to seem. The sleeve remained reassuringly close, a little spittle at the corner of Gladio’s mouth. As a clutch it soothed him but it didn’t stop him from falling apart. “Are they gonna forget about me? I’ll have to live with grandpa. But grandpa is always with mom and busy too.” The sleeve was immediately returned to his mouth. His brows sunk low. When he spoke, it emerged a garbled mess and the tears quickly began to follow. “I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay with mom and play with Iggy--”

With his voice rising quickly in both pitch and volume, Cor acted fast. Holding out his arms he made the right sympathetic noises, the ones that soothed the very worst of Prompto’s fits. Gladio simply crumpled into his arms and Cor pulled him in tight, enveloping him in safety and reassurance. “It’s okay. You’re not going anywhere, Gladio. You’re staying here with family. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t long before Cor’s shoulder was soaked through with tears. Gladio’s face was mashed against him, hands full with his jacket. “I don’t wanna go,” he repeated helplessly. “I want mom--”

Cor hushed him, glancing towards the door. He godson’s hair was thickening more and more, glossy and beautiful, and Cor pet over it in a reassuring and repetitive rhythm. It was the same way he had seen Sorrel do a thousand times, the same way Ignis was distracted from the pain of a bloody knee. “I promise you’re not going anywhere. I promise. Your mom and dad adore you - they just have a lot on their minds with the baby.” He tapped Gladio’s chin, coaxing him into looking up, and his soft cheeks were soaked, his eyes reddening and lids swollen. Such beautiful eyes shouldn’t never be filled with tears. Cor struggled to smile as reassuringly as he could. “They love you so much. And I love you too.” Desperate to prove himself, he firmly and unapologetically kissed Gladio’s forehead and then his temple. “Do you love us too?”

Gladio sniffed hard. When he blinked, fresh tears rolled and Cor brushed them away with a rough pad of his thumb. “Yeah,” he sniffed, “but…”

He trailed off, head hanging, and Cor took up the reigns. “If we love each other, then that’s all that matters, right?” He watched Gladio rub at his eyes, scrubbing at his face. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Gladio murmured, almost reluctantly and his voice was raw. When Cor kissed his forehead again, sighing against him, Gladio did his absolute best to meld with him. He paused, feeling the hot skin against his chapped lips, and he stroked over his hair one last time.

The quiet was stifling. Gladio no longer sobbed but snuffled. The room stank, draped in misery, and Cor had enough of such isolation. “Come on,” he said, and carefully positioned his arms underneath Gladio’s rump. Lifting, he marvelled at just how much heavier the boy had become in such short years. Next to him, Ignis was a bag of feathers. Once upon a time it was no effort at all to carry any of the children. “Time for bed, champ. Everything’ll be fine in the morning.”

A wordless sound of complaint greeted him, but there was no protest. The boy didn’t squirm. Gladio leaned in and rest his head over Cor’s shoulder and he kissed his temple, scratched just behind his ear, and carefully stepped out of the room without casting a second’s thought to the mess they left behind. Flicking the light off, he closed the door firmly behind them, and tried to feel anything less than dismal.

Turning and making plans in his head to keep Gladio company until he finally fell firmly asleep, Cor was deeply surprised to find Clarus turning around on the stairs and frowning deeply. When he saw them, looking between his brother and son, the confusion didn’t budge. He still clutched his phone and he had flicked on the light at the very top of the stairs.

“Wondered where you’d gone,” he said, low as to not disturb his wife. Down the hall her bedroom light had been turned off finally. It plunged her rooms into darkness with a sense of finality. “Is my son being difficult? Thought Jared had put him to bed long ago.”

He spoke with a vague frustration, heavy weariness slumping his shoulders. It made Gladio whimper and try to escape Cor’s arms, attempting to draw his long legs up awkwardly to his chest. Cor adjusted his grip carefully to keep him contained. He rubbed along the length of Gladio’s spine.

“No, no,” Cor said, and stepped forward. In the harsh lighting Clarus looked even worse, old beyond his years. The shadows filled out his face. “He’s tired, and uh… a little upset.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, hurriedly speaking before a father’s annoyance could do any serious, scalding damage. Clarus’ ugly frown deepened. “He feels… left behind, with all the attention on the new baby.”

A beat of cold quiet, and then the horror swept over him, doing away with that haunted exhaustion. The frustration was a blade turned upon himself and forged alongside grief, the hard edge of his tight pressed mouth a mark of deep disappointment. Clarus swept in without another word and Cor would not stand between father and son. He allowed Gladio to be taken easily from his arms and watched as Gladio realised his father’s warmth, that reassuring scent of expensive cologne and the arms that held him tight. Gladio burrowed in, unashamedly clinging close, arms around his neck.

A broad hand steadied against Gladio’s back. “Hello, son,” he murmured. In response Gladio only held him tighter, tight enough for Clarus to wince. A vague sound emerged muffled by Clarus’ shoulder. Clarus closed his eyes, but not before Cor could see them dampened with regret. “Hello.”

The lord Amicitia adjusted him, making sure his boy was comfortable with a forearm hooked beneath him. It was only a moment until Clarus broke away from Cor, angling himself towards Gladio’s bedroom. Cor thought they might slip away there, spend a few minutes together in the rare moment of peace, but he stepped past with great strides of purpose. Stepping far beyond and down to the stillness of Sorrel’s rooms, murmuring so softly Cor could no longer hear, he watched a small smile appear on Gladio’s face.

Cor followed silently, basking in the relief of the child’s clear expression, the knowledge that some part of him was happy again. He watched as Clarus reached Sorrel’s rooms, gently trying the closed door, and then with one final unreadable look from Clarus, they disappeared together. A minute later, the gentle dimmer softly lit up the space underneath her door, and Cor was finally alone.

His mobile was still and silent in his pocket. A skylight across from the stairs showed nothing but darkness -- the hour must have been impossible late, and Cor hadn’t yet realised how his eyes burnt. Another early morning lie ahead of him, his all too common late nights dragging at him, and now the guilt he bore for his godson.

It was time to go. The Amicitia house was silent, and what mounds of work remained could be dealt with another day. 

He took the stairs as quietly as he could. Clarus had left the hall and parlour lights on, everything strewn behind and abandoned. Both dogs had happily relocated onto the sofas. Everything was just as disastrous as Cor had left it, and he couldn’t find any blame to scrounge up. In the silence Cor began to gather up the plates and cutlery, nudging papers and pens aside. Carrying them out and past the grand dining table, allegedly long unused, he ran hot water to soak the cutlery. He busied himself with scraping the leftover meals into the bin -- despite his growling stomach and mostly full plate, he could no longer bear the thought of food, and the scraping of metal against china barely bothered him.

Enveloping it all into the water, letting his bare hands sting in the heat, he didn’t hear footsteps approach him from behind.

“Ah-- Master Leonis,” Jared began, and the man materialized abruptly at Cor’s side. “Please don’t worry yourself with this washing. I’m certain you’ve had a long enough day without this washing. I’m certain you’ve had a long enough day with the domesticities, my lord.”

“It’s no problem,” Cor said. Refusing to budge, he ignored Jared’s helpless dithering, and the sting of his title. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone all day to look after Sorrel. You deserve a break. Must be exhausted.”

“Ah,” Jared repeated, lost. There was no denial. “It’s of no concern.”

Cor worked steadily through the pile. Water dripped and bubbles clung to his hands. It softened up his palms and flushed them pink, but he ignored the discomfort of the heat. The work grounded him. With single minded focus he continued to work. “It’s of concern to me, and I’m sure Sorrel would not be pleased to know that you were still wide awake at this hour.”

Jared watched quietly. After years of his service, the silences had never been awkward -- until now.

Eventually with a soft exhale, the steward bundled up a towel, beginning to dry off the cutlery in a quiet flourish. They spent the moment in completely silence. Not a sound came from upstairs or outside. Cor cleared his throat, head and heart heavy. In time he could pour the dirty water away, watching it all spiral. 

Grabbing another towel when he was finished he dried his hands off. “I’ll step out now,” he rumbled. From across the way, a grandfather clock chimed. Eight - nine - ten - eleven chimes, even, and Amais would still be sat up with a cup of strong tea simply clock watching, worrying. He had always waited up if Cor assured him it wasn’t necessary. If they were lucky, their children would still be warm and content, long since abed. Cor longed to hold them close, kiss their heads, banish the thought of tears. “Could you pass the message to Clarus that I’ll be along in the morning? Drautos will pick up the slack with his Majesty, I’m sure, and I’ll take that over at noon.”

“Of course,” Jared said smoothly. Cor neatly folded the towel and placed it to one side, eager to not create more mess for an already strained family. Patting Jared’s back as roughly as he dared, used to shouldering around Clarus himself, the woolen fabric of his waistcoat rough against his sensitive palms.

“Thank you,” he said, but he only made it out to the hall before Jared’s voice gave him pause. 

“Please,” he called, closer than Cor had expected. When he turned Jared stood uncertainty in the doorway. The towel was twisted and agitated in worn old hands. “I’m terribly sorry to ask -- however…”

Cor waited patiently but Jared’s hesitation was palpable. His wedding ring gleamed in the overhead light. “Yes?”

He looked up. He couldn’t quite meet Cor’s eyes, not yet. “I must ask… Could you bring the young masters Ignis and Prompto tomorrow morning? I do believe it might do master Gladio the world of good.”

Cor’s brows shot up. “ You want to be babysitting three young children while looking after a heavily pregnant woman?” The very thought of it made something shrivel inside and his muscles ache.

Jared nodded without hesitation. “I will take good care. I swear it.”

It would be a waking nightmare. Waking Prompto early, trying to keep him entertained and settled and comfortable in the car. Ignis would be a godsend, a stabilizing force and always eager to be counted amongst one of the adults even at his young age. Ignis was always ready to make his baby brother smile. Once Cor dropped them off, it might be easier -- unless Ignis fretted at all the noise and mess, sensitive to those sorts of things -- unless Prompto in his eagerness took a tumble -- unless --

But Gladio would be happy. They would comfort and distract him and Cor couldn’t in good conscience let his unrealistic fears let a lonely little boy be alone again.

“I’ll see if Amais can spare a little time to help you out.” Cor said a little rawly, low in his shredded throat, and Jared smiled with his relief. The upper floor remained pitch black. It was rare that Cor knew a world so still. “I’ll come along at eight, probably. I won’t be able to get the kids up before then.”

All that sour tension melted from Jared’s hard set shoulders. “Thank you,” he said, and folded the towel over into a respectable neat square. It was much better than Cor’s. “Goodnight, Master Leonis. Drive safe.”

Bowing his head, Cor slipped out of the manor and into the chill of the late night, and if he held his children a little closer when he dragged himself home, pressing a feather light kiss to their soft cheeks, he never told a soul.


	4. prompto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small but strong legs kicked out against Cor’s belly without thinking. Even as Prompto steadily grew stronger the force behind the blows meant nothing and Cor only growled in response, playing along at disbelief and outrage.
> 
> Taking great care still he dipped Prompto low to the floor. Pressing his face against his throat, Cor savagely shook his head and snarled in play. “You’re mine now,” he insisted smugly as he flit the fingers of one broad hand across Prompto’s covered ribs, and the boy only laughed louder.

Many long years ago, the Citadel’s long and noble corridors had been chastising and solemn in their silences. Each footstep carried along otherwise empty polished corridors. Soon after the marks they left would be firmly swept away as if to hide the ugly truth that flawed human beings had ever walked such a path. Everything was clean. No dust, no smears, and few signs of life. Any voices were always distant and made distorted by the tile, unfamiliar. No matter how close they truly were the seemed a million miles away always.

Cor had always sulked through in his charecteristic silence. That had suited him perfectly. Serving staff either snuck by in their secret corridors to avoid the shame or hurried past with lowered eyes as nobles passed, rushing through without sparing a glance let alone a greeting to those seen as  _ lesser _ . Cor could only hope that one day there would trip over their stifling airs and graces. Few words were spoken and the guards at most doors were stern, stoic, even when Cor nodded formally to his Kingsglaive, the busy Crownsguard, and only when expectant nobles who felt entitled to his precious time attempted to bear down upon him did he make his excuses and pick up his pace.

Precious time wasn’t always an accurate thought. Cor had yoghurts amongst his lunch more pressing than half of their claims to honour. It seemed the half of his day was spent avoiding them. Regis and Aulea remaining cooped up in their offices and quarters from dusk until dawn seemed the perfect idea, if they hadn’t bestowed upon him the title of Captain, someone duty bound to permanently look busy.

But now those years were long past - when he was distant and decidedly blissful in his hard earned pride and solitude. Now with one less limb and the gilded title of Marshal, these days Cor hadn’t known five minutes of peace in years.

This time it was the small, quick footsteps that seemed to come from behind that snatched his attention.

Rubber soles squeaked loudly across the floor, each carefully buffed title. The cleaners had been around for their deep clean first thing on an almost cheerily bright Monday morning. If Cor concentrated he might have supposed it came from behind. Or ahead. Or around, a little body restless and escaping capture. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

That meant only one thing -- a careless child that though nothing of cleanliness and the precious time of staff who need peace and quiet to focus on their stifling politics, about to come screaming around some corner. Rampant children thought nothing of relics upon the walls, leaking sticky fingerprints all across smooth and aged surfaces, thought with relief how well they had hidden the small doodles the princeling had left upon one of the paintings of his forebears. Scuffs on vases were testaments to clumsy hands. Only four terrible children currently occupied the citadel at this early hour, and they could always be heard coming. Rambunctious and wild, the very picture of their young parents. But only two were daring enough to sprint around a place of government. Cor knew his own son -- Ignis was a boy too reserved and had been left that morning with his part time babysitter, and his nephew Noctis was uninterested in expanding seemingly any energy at all. Gladio, the very worst offender amongst them, had been left in tutoring by his father’s side and kissed goodbye by his mother wearing no shoes at all. The world simply had to see his new Malbuddy socks. The child had insisted and wailed when Clarus had tried to slide his shoes on.

By process of elimination it left only one of the most eager children in all of Lucis.

Slowing his pace, shortening his steps, Cor’s reflection was tall but vague in the reflection of a fiercely shined photo frame. Each gleamed. Casting his duties aside he waited. There were a dozen different places for Cor to be that morning, a few hundred come noon but he walked on as if blissfully unaware of what was preordained for him. Patrolling the halls had previously been a minor duty of his but now vital, with so many vulnerable children and the prince chief amongst them cocooned within the walls. As new threats emerged and the war only grew more unstable guards had been placed on duties further outside of the Citadel, walking the streets while Drautos’ kingsglaive wandered the gardens and the corridors of the Citadel, stood tall at each door, shadowing each royal. Crownsguard worked to keep the political machine functioning, and made sure no stranger managed to talk their way inside. Cor prefered sharing beats with Monica and Dustin so close to his king and queen vastly -- but of course, unaware of the realities of day to day life, the children thought that Cor’s close proximity meant he was a willing participant in each little game they dreamed up together. Often Cor had sacrificed his lunch break to play hunters and cactuars with children that shrieked and tumbled to escape him, grass stains over their neat clothes. It was no real sacrifice, a guard often taking mercy and fetching a meal to be delivered to his offices later, but it always stung to see how the children deflated when their time was up.

Everyone worked with pride. It was in part thanks to the children that they worked far more happily than before, living and working amongst the future of their kingdom.

Watching the hallway shorten with every step he refused to glance back, even when the steps grew closer and closer, growing as clear as the day behind him. Even when the rubber screeched and those hurried footfalls stopped entirely. A child was behind him and Cor half expected a shriek of delight -  _ daddy, _ or  _ uncle _ if he was wrong, and the collision of a small body against his calves. But none came. Sudden silence made Cor abruptly nervous. When surrounded by clumsy children in such a precious building, it was downright suspicious. 

It was tempting to look back. No doubt Prompto was quivering in excitement, town between calling out for his father’s attention and taking advantage of his ‘ignorance’. A grin would show off his wonky, gappy teeth. Prompto’s fair skin always flushed ruddy and bright in his excitement. He was saccharine sweet in everything he did, and fighting to the urge to turn Cor kept walking, glancing cautiously to his right in order to check on their reflections in the metal.

He could feel Prompto’s presence but it didn’t gnaw. Cor knew the feeling of being stalked and knew it well -- it prickled like the electricity he could summon crackling in the palm of his hand. It made his fine hairs stand on end. It was easier to dismiss that feeling of danger, and Cor still could smile no matter how faintly. He wondered if Prompto was creeping closer, holding his little breath, closing in on much bigger prey.

There was total quiet. Cor’s heart had slowed and his breath still. Passing by the tall windows, the strong morning sunshine was pleasant against his skin, making the world gleam. He hummed in satisfaction, bird song and the bustle of gardeners pulling weeds and watering thriving plants still prevalent. Cor’s own soles made modest sounds but they didn’t mask the tiny giggle that came from so close behind. So close it surprised him -- for all of Prompto’s serious lack of grace the boy had come far closer than Cor ever would have imagined. Glancing to one side he saw two obscure reflections marred against the gold and onyx. One large and broad and another very close, still so small that Prompto could barely be seen. His was a little figure tiptoeing, and Cor knew it was only a matter of time.

“Daddy,” Prompto declared only a heartbeat later, directly behind him, and in response Cor pivoted, quick on his feet even still. At the very same time Prompto leapt, a blur of blonde fuzz and baby blue fabric, and Cor learned to adapt the hard way to all the surprises life loved to throw at him in the form of a mischievous little boy he had plucked from a cold, dismal lab. Change came quickly. If Cor wasn’t ready, it might knock him off his feet.

Throwing his arms wide open he sank into a low crouch, capturing his son and pulling him close. He grunted as the body struck his, Prompto all long limbs and round body and he adjusted as fast as he could. An arm supported his thighs and Cor knelt close to the ground, worried Prompto might slip and fall onto the hard tile. Cor’s arms were a solid cage and Prompto cooed, delighted at his father’s unrivalled attention. “Got you,” he grumbled close to Prompto’s tiny ears, low in his throat like one of the hulking monsters that lived inside the boy’s storybooks. At the rumble Prompto shrieked, skin pink and his freckles stark. Such bright eyes and an overjoyed smile -- Cor couldn’t help but return it. He straightened and spun with his son in his arms, enjoying the sudden burst of energy after hours of dull and repetitive pacing. It was easy to keep his feet. Keeping ahold of an eager child, not so much. “Did you think you can scare me?”

“Daddy, no!” Prompto cried, laughter ear splittingly loud in the confined halls. He scrambled to cling close, nails naturally sharper than perhaps they should have been. Cor made a note to fix it. Prompto’s onesie was delightfully furry in contrast to the sting, Prompto’s clear favourite with a little mane ringing the heavy hood. Rounded ears not unlike a lion’s were plush. The drama that surrounded figuring out how to wash it correctly without running the colour or ruining the fabric was worth it -- when Cor nuzzled in, it tickled his nose. Small but strong legs kicked out against Cor’s belly without thinking. Even as Prompto steadily grew stronger the force behind the blows meant nothing and Cor only growled in response, playing along at disbelief and outrage.

Taking great care still he dipped Prompto low to the floor. Pressing his face against his throat, Cor savagely shook his head and snarled in play. “You’re mine now,” he insisted smugly as he flit the fingers of one broad hand across Prompto’s covered ribs, and the boy only laughed louder.

That dismal silence no longer shrouded the hallways. They brimmed with hope. Little muddy footprints lead from the gardens up into rooms and colourful juice sometimes stained pale carpets, but little Noctis smiled widely at everyone he saw and Prompto always chirped a good morning. Gladio talked dreamily of following his father into casual meetings, following his mother into training, and Ignis shared tea with Aulea and watched her carefully, copying her poise determinedly. Their noise and presence was a constant, and few souls missed the silence one bit. Nobles turned up their noses at the children with common blood, some tired when the prince threw fits  _ most unbecoming of his status _ , as if a prince was born holier than thou and in full control of developing emotions and a vulnerable body, but the harsh waves of political would wash over them come time and Cor hoped it would take them whole.

In his arms Prompto struggled and gasped for breath. His colourful cheeks were deepening and he still cackled in delight, hair stranding almost on end. Eager hands grasped for him and tugged at his jacket collar. The little body convulsed and giggled, completely out of Prompto’s control. Hard hiccups wracked his form and tears were barely shed. The boy’s weight was finally comfortable in Cor’s arms, solid and healthy, but Cor stood fast against his strength.

Helplessness had him squealing between breaths. “Daddy,” he burst. “Daddy, no!”

“What’s this? A plea for mercy?” While his hand never ceased, he slowed, tracing over Prompto’s heaving belly.

“No more!” Prompto insisted, still smiling widely even as his cheeks were damp. “Daddy!”

“What does a little monster say when the big monster catches him?”

“Please,” Prompto said dutifully, cycling his legs much softer than before. His feet shifted from side to side, little colorful sneakers against the blue of the onesie, and rubbed at his soft cheeks. Cor took mercy and finally released him from his clutches, settling him back down on the ground. Those little legs trembled but Prompto refused to release Cor’s abused lapels. Cor was forced to squat before him, still not yet eye to eye with his son even after a significant growth spurt. The last few intense hiccups made Prompto’s chest bump. “I nearly got you,” he complained. “I didn’t make any noise!”

“Great job, Prom,” he congratulated, somehow with a straight face. He covered Prompto’s warm hands with his own, rubbing at the palms and squeezing, and leaned in conspiratorially. “But I can always tell when you’re creeping up on me. Daddy sense.”

Prompto’s face wrinkled up. He danced from foot to foot, soles squeaking again. “No you can’t!”

“I can,” Cor insisted, settling down on the floor for comfort’s sake. Crossing his long legs with some difficulty, joints arguing but mind simply thankful there was no dust to stain his dark trousers, he allowed Prompto to clamber up and over his thighs. There was no disauding him. And not once did his hands release Cor. The child settled heavily against him, happily leaning in close enough for Cor to catch the scent of his sweet hair, his freshly laundered clothes. The night before Prompto had elected to sit sprawled and watching the slow spin impatiently, close to tears the whole time. It had been a job and a half to coax him over to the dinner table. Eventually Cor had given in and put his chicken nuggets on a plastic plate they had left over from Ignis’ last birthday and sullenly cleaned up the smears of ketchup Prompto had left all over the glass. Breaking his excited heart by then putting it into the drier was a whole other mess of complicated emotions. Only when Prompto was promised that he could wear it at the Citadel all the next day if he was a good boy did he settle, eyes still pink and raw. “I know I had left you to play with Aunt Monica, but I could feel you coming. Did you run away from her?”

Abrupt uncertainty flashed in Prompto’s soft eyes, as if he realised only now that he was going to be in trouble. Instead he pouted as obviously as he could, attempting to play sweet. And just like a thousand other times it almost worked -- Cor had come terribly close to becoming a sucker for life. Large blue eyes tried their best to wear him down. “We were gonna see Uncle Reggie. But I wanted to see you!”

It was a struggle to not melt. Cor pressed the end of one of his short nails into his index finger, hoping the edge of pain would keep him sour enough. “You saw me this morning,” he reminded the boy as gently as he could. As sweet a child as Prompto could be, a boy his age could still throw one hell of a tantrim. And he did for the first few sobering days of his new life within Insomnia, screaming the very walls around them all the way down if he was apart from Cor for more than a few minutes. It was if he knew how Cor struggled with the thought of leaving Prompto behind for another family after all they had been through together. Guilt was a powerful motivator. Cor hated to hear him scream but the sobbing was by far the worst part. How lungs that powerful fit inside so small a child, Cor had no idea. “I promise I’d take you and Iggy out for waffles. Remember?”

Prompto looked down at his feet, determinedly avoiding Cor’s eyes. He knew his wrongdoing. He knew the doe eyes had not worked. Those trainers scuffed again leaving pale marks on the dark floor. “I wanted to play with you now.”

“I know. I like playing with you too.” Releasing Prompto’s hands he tweaked his little nose, pinching and shaking just enough to make his son pull a face. He looked back up, eyes trusting and wide and expression hopeful. It faded as Cor continued. “But you can’t run away from Auntie Monica. She must be looking for you right now. She’s probably really worried, and scared.” If Cor knew Monica well, the ‘glaives would be involved. Every set of eyes in the building were on watch, listening for giggles and thumping as Prompto wormed his way into secret rooms, searching for untold mysteries.

Reluctance edged over Prompto’s disappointed. Glancing back to the direction that he had come from, the way leading over to the higher officer’s personal quarters and largely Drautos’ domain, Prompto looked guiltily towards his father. “Scared?”

Cor nodded. “She cares about you. And Uncle Regis loves and really wants to see you too. You know he’s been talking about it all morning?” Cor smiled through the sour taste of a lie -- it would have been a kinder world that the king could talk of anything less than trade agreements and luncheons with ambassadors -- and poked Prompto’s chest just over his heart. “I’m sure if you creep back, I’m sure they’ll be so happy again. Bet they miss your smile.”

Prompto lazy posture perfected itself. His smile reemerged, warming Cor from the inside out. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.” All lies aside, that was a shimmer of truth. Prompto’s smile was one of the things Cor missed the very most when they were apart. After a solid fortnight of treacherous, slow travel from Niflheim’s outlying badlands to the very eastern ends of Lucis with the weight of weak, helpless infant bundled in his arms, the sight of Prompto’s anguished expression had ingrained itself in his mind. In the early days Cor’s newfound duty was bizarre - jerking awake in his poor excuse for shelter to the snuffling and squirming that meant the infant was hungry and yet too weak to cry, the cooing when he slowly adjusted to the sight of Cor’s pinched face. It was just the two of them for several long weeks, stopping and starting, begging for or stealing baby formula and helpless without the knowledge of exactly how to use it. But Cor had found a way. 

And then it was just the two of them for months. Sorrel and Clarus gave their considerable expertise as new parents and Aulea and Regis their time and love, when possible. Paternity leave and the process of adopting a child with no name was hectic, and yet some of the most peaceful weeks Cor had ever known, sitting by a borrowed crib and watching Prompto’s chest rise and fall. Then Prompto grew, become stronger, learned to kick and screech like the very best of them. In face of everything there were no regrets. Even when Cor became Marshal and was suddenly no longer single, a small family of two babies suddenly in his lap even as he was too busy with work to spend every night at home no matter how he longed to. His day shifts were long and night shifts dull and suddenly full of mournful hours dreaming of being able to settle his children safe in bed, share a drink with the man he loved, and get a good night’s rest. 

But the most surprising thing about carrying Prompto through border security wrapped in a stained old blanket, ignoring the stares and murmurs of those on duty, was the determination that had settled inside him. A child was never what Cor expected, though he had sometimes permitted himself dreams of a fanciful future. A child was no fit for the lone soldier’s life but Cor longed still. And Prompto loved what Cor gave him. He made it clear in every cry of Cor’s name, every firm embrace. Prompto loved him, cuddled in his arms and trusting in him, and Cor could finally thank each and every Astral for their blessing.

Serving as a tether, a guiding light, Prompto brought Cor home as much as Cor had him.

“Do you want to go back?” Swallowing past a thickening lump of emotion, Cor tried to push forward. “I promise we’ll get lunch together.”

Looking backwards one last, lingering time, Prompto finally and determinedly nodded. “Okay,” he said, and lifted up his arms expectantly. 

Cor’s arms made a cradle around him, strong and safe but awkwardly attempting to get to his feet without dislodging and upsetting his son. Knowing there were people out hunting Cor hurried, eager to not be caught graceless. Prompto simply settled for the long haul, the king of his very own castle. He peered curiously over Cor’s shoulder. Laughing quietly Cor bounced him up and pressed a loving kiss to his temple and then his forehead, just to hear his delight.

“Daddy,” Prompto murmured as if to himself. Eager arms wrapped loosely around him, fisting hard in the back of his jacket and Prompto leaned forward precariously in order to return his kisses. It was hard not to feel lightheaded and pleased as Prompto messily and noisily kissed along the stubble of his cheek. Cor smiled at him, feeling the tension completely abandon him in pulses. “Daddy,” Prompto said again, and seemed deeply distracted as he made a song of it, singing quietly under his breath and occasionally pressing more kisses along his cheek, and with a light heart and bounce to his step, Cor began the long process of hunting down a woman who never truly stood still.


	5. ignis (redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis cherished family. Every single birthday for his aunts and uncles there was a thoughtful gift and no favour went unfilled, Ignis going above and beyond for them. Not once had he ever responded to their names with fear or anger.
> 
> “Ignis,” he tried, and the worry had his voice trembling. “Please tell me what has you so upset.”
> 
> Ignis swallowed. Every line of him was tense. Toying with the crystal cuffs Regis had gifted him for his eighteenth, he stammered, “I...I think I’ve fucked everything up.”

After almost two decades with each of them Cor could tell when his boys were upset.

There was a firm set to each line of Ignis’ face. There was a heavy darkness that hung over him, weighing down his shoulders and ruining his usually perfect posture. A young man like Ignis often sat proudly but here, sitting in front of his father’s great oak desk, he sat like a child about to be scolded. It was a familiar sight to Cor. He half expected the boy to start kicking his legs out in impatience.

The black ink of the pen Cor still held against the paper began to blot. It gleamed under the sunlight streaming in. It was a beautiful day, not meant for such sallowness written across Ignis’ face. Capping the pen and putting it aside he frowned. “Good afternoon, Ignis,” he said hesitantly. Only minutes ago the clock had ticked over to lunchtime. Usually at this time Ignis was on the move, hurriedly eating a sandwich as Noctis packed up for his next appointment or picking at apple slices as he sat in on a conference call. Ignis always found time for his meal, and yet…

Something was very wrong.

Ignis always knocked. Then he would wait politely until called, even with his own father. This time Ignis knocked once and shouldered the door wide open without a word. It had surprised Cor enough that he froze. A ‘t’ had gone uncrossed. They stared at each other, Cor in confusion and Ignis in a mood temporarily unreadable. Then Cor saw the terseness of his jaw, the way his fists were closed tight, and he knew.

“May I sit,” Ignis had asked as if remembering the good manners ingrained in him since seemingly before his birth, and now here they were. 

When Cor greeted him Ignis hung his head as if deeply ashamed. “Hello,” he murmured. Those hands remained stiffly clenched atop his knees. Ignis swallowed, throat bobbing hard. “I’m terribly sorry. I forgot my manners, I… I should have knocked.”

He looked just about ready to spring out of his seat and knock again, this time properly. Cor lifted his hands as if to placate a feral beast. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m not busy right now.”

The files piled up between them that desperately required Cor’s attention were obvious. Even then Ignis seemed not to take them in. He exhaled. “I’m sorry,” he said again, helplessly.

Something inside Cor stood alert. Everything in the room became less important. Whatever was outside didn’t matter at all. “Ignis, you haven’t done anything wrong. There’s no need--”

In his seat Ignis rocketed forward. He leaned over as if he was going to retch, halfway to sinking into a bow. Judging by how the blood had drained from his cheeks, it didn’t seem wrong to think he was sick. “Please don’t be angry,” Ignis whispered. “Please- please don’t be upset.”

Alarm bells rang. Cor stood, sharper than he intended, and Ignis flinched. Guilt and shame roiled alongside pure bewilderment in Cor’s belly. “Ignis, what’s wrong?”

Everything had been fine that very morning. They had met for a late breakfast, Ignis arriving punctual as always with a yawning Prompto in tow. They shared pastries and downed coffee and Ignis had been smiling still. No strain, no deceit. Constant tiredness touched the boy’s face, too much for one barely out of his teens, but there was no rest for one raised so close to the prince. Ignis was happy. Or so Cor had thought. 

Pale, bony hands scrubbed hard at Ignis’ face. “I didn’t want this.”

It had only been a handful of hours and  _ this.  _ Caught in a limbo between festivals or special guests the Citadel was regarded as largely dull in this period. For the past week Cor had been signing off papers or running the usual drills, shit Cor could do with his hands tied behind his back. There was no reason for tears and Cor’s mind rushed to fill in the blanks. An injury or perhaps his studies. Maybe even a stormy argument with the prince. Anything could have happened to make Ignis fret.

Cor tried to soften up. Rolling his chair back and along he brought it over to Ignis’ side. Settling down carefully, quietly, he saw how his son’s shoulders trembled. Daring to reach out he lightly touched Ignis’ bicep. “Ignis,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid. Whatever’s wrong, I can help you. If not me maybe Monica, or Clarus --”

Evidently it was the wrong thing to day. A strangled sound escaped Ignis’ throat. “Not -- not Lord Amicitia.”

“What?” Cor recoiled himself, caught off guard. A wild look had crossed Ignis’ face, warping his features. Never before had a mention of Aunt Monica or Uncle Clarus spooked him, not since he was a child. Cor remembered days in the garden, oppressively hot and the sky clear, and Clarus hugely popular with children who dared each other to slip ice cubes down the back of his shirt. Cold days when inches of snow had yet to be properly be cleared from the grand Citadel stairs and Monica plucked Ignis up before he could slip, and hopped up with him in her arms the whole way. Ignis had fisted her jacket and nuzzled closer. Monica had smiled, and when she had settled him down inside the halls he complained softly, wanting to be carried up the stairs to his father. 

Ignis cherished family. Every single birthday for his aunts and uncles there was a thoughtful gift and no favour went unfilled, Ignis going above and beyond for them. Not once had he ever responded to their names with fear or anger. 

“Ignis,” he tried, and the worry had his voice trembling. “Please tell me what has you so upset.” 

Ignis swallowed. Every line of him was tense. Toying with the crystal cuffs Regis had gifted him for his eighteenth, he stammered, “I...I think I’ve fucked everything up.”

Immediately a thousand more possibilities spring to mind. Advisor to the future king was a daunting jon, and it had barely begun -- Noctis was inching into his responsibilities. More and more was piling onto their plates. Cor’s job was demanding but easy in the same vein, with his years of experience in laying down his life if necessary and fighting to keep a fragile world together, but his eldest had to charm, plan, train, care for his young charge. It was a careful balancing act and Cor had seen too many take a devastating fall.

Today the Citadel was quiet. Noctis had picked up an extra shift at his part time job for the afternoon and Regis was in his chambers recovering from the flu. ‘glaives had finished their training. It was one of those odd days when there was little to do. Surely there was nothing to ruin. Cor racked his brains and yet nothing emerged.

Cor couldn’t help but feel utterly lost. Ignis looked like he had long since been dragged through a bush, harried and mussed. “I’m sure whatever has gone wrong can be smoothed over,” Cor said slowly, like Ignis was an infant all over again. “If you made a mistake, we can work past it.”

Ignis drew his lower lip between his teeth -- his worst nervous habit. He began the long process of bloodying himself, chewing damn near all the way through. “I didn’t,” he said, but it was unconvincingly weak. “I don’t think I can -- but…”

“What do you mean?”

Tongue sweeping across his lip, Ignis winced. He stared out at the grooves on Cor’s old desk. He said nothing even as Cor waited patiently. Ignis’ breath came slow and deep, the way Ignis’ breathed when he was trying to stave off a panic attack. 

Pressing at him as gently as he could, Cor rolled a little away to give him space. As a friendly, calming gesture he knocked their knees together. “Don’t be afraid,” Cor urged him, voice low. The limited space between them felt like a chasm. “I won’t be angry, or upset, as Marshal or your father.” Sometimes it was hard to find that distinction between two vastly different roles. Today, it would be close to impossible. “I’m here to help you, Ignis.”

Letting out a long exhale, Ignis glanced aside to him. But the pressure of Cor’s eyes were too much. He looked away. His face was a blotchy, stained pink. He trembled hard enough for his glasses to begin slipping down his nose.

“Captain Drautos is going to Uncle - he’s going to the king, I think,” he said, almost too quiet to hear.

Sitting back in his chair, Cor tried not to feel sick. Fighting to keep his expression of calm for the sake of his son he wondered what Drautos thought was worthy of the King’s attention, especially whilst so ill. While Drautos’ judgement was often wise he was no trusted uncle that Cor would have considered close. Cor would bow in reference when the moment was right but it was impossible to hold him in higher regard than his son, and it was not right that Ignis would get no benefit of the doubt or not even the chance to speak with his father first. Patience was Drautos’ finest virtue, and it filled Cor with ice like dread that Ignis’ alleged misstep -- and as far as Cor was aware, his only -- was to be dredged up before royalty.

“Why?” He could only ask, confused and helpless. “What’s going on?” 

Ignis’ jawline flexed. He blinked hard as if to fend off tears and said, haltingly. “He found… he…” Ignis closed his eyes. “I’m seeing someone.”

Unable to control himself, Cor’s expression slacked. He leaned back in his seat and stared aimlessly for too long. It was long enough for Ignis to sigh, his breathing harsh and unsteady. 

None of his boys held secrets. Or maybe that was what every parent thought. Cor had never been naive enough to think his boys were saints but as Marshal he wasn’t a fool. Every poorly hidden hangover was as plain as day. He knew about the sneaking out, the sexual maturity -- all the boys and girls that Prompto fawned over at school. Sometimes his children opened up about their problems, sitting him down at their coffee table and stammering through their tale of woe. Other times the boys ‘subtley’ discussed it amongst themselves. 

But Cor had never seen Ignis truly connect with or speak of any outside of his boys. It wasn’t that he was never playful, nor that he didn’t have friends. He just rarely dined or spoke with anyone who wasn’t one of the Citadel. Ignis had rare occasion to meet any other.

A strange feeling pulled at him, one he dare not recognise. 

“Please say something,” Ignis pleaded, and Cor was jerked out of his thoughts.

He sat back up slowly. “Is that what’s wrong?”

Ignis nodded, miserable.

A mixed flurry of relief and and concern warred inside. Disappointment and panic welled up inside, modest but still simmering. Cor had been left out in the cold regarding his own son, and even Drautos knew before a father. They were useless feelings nonetheless. 

Shoving them down, he tried to smile reassuringly. By the look on Ignis’ face, it fell flat. “I’d never be upset with you for that. That’s… wonderful news, Ignis. Don’t be afraid of me.”  _ Drautos, however… _ “Is that what Drautos is going to Regis about?”

“It’s someone from the Citadel. I know I shouldn’t have. I just…” Cor had never seen a man so hopeless, so lost for words. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, softly. Reaching out he squeezed his shoulder again. “Don’t be. Do you want to tell me about it? Is it someone I know?”

There was no standard held for fraternization rules in the Citadel. Largely it depended. The higher the post the stricter the eyes upon them, but there were some exceptions. A small handful of guards were married, as well as a few of the Kingsglaive. Nyx and Libertus were rarely apart. Whoever Ignis was sweet on would be subject to simple background and security checks, the two of them certainly separated on the job. Prince and king together would have to given consent. But Noctis cherished peace and the smiles of his brother, and Regis would not crush the heart of a boy he watched grow up. Ignis would be at no risk to demotion.

Ignis nodded again. His face was red with shame. Cor wondered what exactly required such swift action. It made no sense to him and Cor reached aimlessly for reason. Someone he knew could be anyone at all, from a kingsglaive that he had trained to a name that fleetingly crossed his desk.

“Are they soldiers? Nobles?” A flickering of  _ Council  _ crossed his mind and he strove not to let the distate show. “Older than you? Married? I don’t understand why this is an issue has been taken to Regis, or has disturbed you so.”

That gnawing feeling crept closer. Someone Cor knew who Ignis would have bonded with right under his nose in their place of work. That feeling grew hotter and hotter. Someone -- a little boy Ignis might have held hands with, laughed with.

“Please don’t separate us,” Ignis whispered, shaking still, and Cor swore.

_ Not Lord Amicitia _ , Ignis had yelped, and the pieces of the puzzle clicked soundly together. The picture it painted was peaceful, beautiful, but all too fragile. 

Cor rubbed his thumb over the hard line of Ignis’ tendon. Ignis seemed ready to blow, the only line keeping him together bound to snap.

“Ignis,” Cor asked, though it already made perfect sense. Ignis fussing and pouting as a younger boy, soothed only by an older boy’s presence. Ignis looking up to him and spending long weekends at his manor. And Cor had dismissed it all as nothing more than brotherhood.  _ Like a fool.  _ “Ignis, are you seeing Gladio?”

Ignis was silent, but the tears that escaped him were his answer. Many more followed. Soon enough his thick eyelashes were soaked. He slumped over, pretense at dignity falling apart.

It was all the confirmation he needed. “Oh, Ignis,” Cor murmured, and Ignis only sagged.

“Please,” Ignis burst, and then he was sobbing in a way his father hadn’t seen since he came up to Cor’s knee. No matter how close Cor rolled the tears kept coming. “Please don’t say it like that. I know I shouldn’t have, but--”

Cor released his shoulder, only to pull Ignis into a firm embrace.With his arms supporting him, Ignis was damn near dead weight against him. “It’s okay,” Cor sighed, and rest a hand over Ignis’ head, guiding him close. Ignis melted into him. Tears soaked his shirt and Ignis trembled on, almost feverish. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

Hands grasped his shirt. He said nothing but cried, desperately. It was a blessing that all higher officers personal spaces were all soundproofed. No one would blunder in. Great loud sobs hurt Cor’s ears and heart, the kind that would bring people running.

Somehow between it all. Ignis managed mangled words. “He saw us together. We were just going to lunch early and,” Ignis paused, and hiccuped hard. “And Gladio kissed me, but Drautos was there. He saw. And he was so angry.”

Cor would kill him. Cor would hunt him down and tear him to shreds for his appalling display of ‘leadership’. Not even guards deserved to be brought to tears. Wherever Gladio was he could have been in the same state, and two boys should never had regretted anything so pure. It should never have made them afraid.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Cor told him firmly. Gods only knew if Regis would say the same. He could only hope. As a boy Regis had been wholly unconcerned with his own father’s harsh rules. Both relationships and dalliances with boys -- Clarus, the longest lasting of them -- had been common knowledge amongst Regis’ close friends. He had swept away handsome men of all class and stature. Watching him, Cor had felt the prelude to peace when it came to dealing with his own sexuality, his own feelings for men newly validated. 

But Regis had melt Aulea, a woman of high class and Cor knew that Mors would have finally approved. As Marshal Cor may have received royal permission to wed the Prince’s caretaker easily. But Advisor and Shield were sworn to the self same duties. There could be no conflict of interest. Cor couldn’t imagine it, however kind a king. But in the moment, Cor could not break a heart so dear to him.

A father made the only promise he could. “I’m happy for you, Ignis. Dad will be too. Please don’t be upset.”

Ignis nodded furiously. His body was still wracked with waves of tears, but he tried. “Okay. Okay.”

Meanwhile, his curiosity burnt, barely controllable. “Can I ask how long?”

A little smile appeared. It wasn’t much, but finally something. Wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand, he was shy as Cor pulled away to peer at him. “Almost a year,” he admitted and Cor could have choked.

Instead he spluttered. The boys had been close, but surely not. Surely he couldn’t have been so blind -- but, perhaps. Prompto still lived at home, looking for a secure and close enough apartment but Ignis had lived away for close to two years now. A young man wanted his privacy, and apparently with his lover of nearly a damn year. As far as Cor knew, the two of them were nothing more than friends.

That smile disappeared as quickly as it came. Ignis’ cheeks were sodden. His eyelashes were clumping together thickly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he amended as quickly as he could, stuttering. “I was… scared, and so was Gladio -- Gladiolus. We both agreed. We didn’t know what we were doing.”

Letting out a huff of breath, Cor could only nod. Imposing as he might have been to each of his soldiers the Marshal had been nervous a dozen times before. In poorly footed fights, on dates, holding the newborn prince. He knew how Ignis worried far more than others, afraid that anything would be used against his political career and bring shame to his family and the Crown. A foreigner, an adopted son playing at lordship in the eyes of the Council. And now closeted, sweet on a man they would never allow to be his.

Cor knew the fear of not being enough. Never being accepted.

“Is he good to you?”

Surprise laxed Ignis’ features. Whatever reaction he anticipated, this wasn’t it. “Yes,” he said without missing a beat.

As Cor knew he would be. Gladio was fiercely loyal, kind, everything that Cor would have wanted for a companion for his children. “Are you good to him?”

“I try to be,” Ignis said, voice wavering and yet sure. A few tears still dribbled down and his lower lip had been chewed to the point of bloodiness. His tongue laved away the red. “But I know his duty, and I know mine. I knew we have an expiry date, drawing ever closer but… I wanted him for a little longer at least, and then Drautos…”

It was all too likely that Drautos stood before the king right now, Clarus sitting by his side as always. By the end of the day Cor knew he would receive summons. Then, perhaps, he would no longer be the King’s close friend. It was all too possible he would become simply the Marshal, and the protective father. Cor winced at the thought.

Clarus took surprise perfectly in battle and precisely nowhere else. A vehement or even furious reaction would tide over in time. But it would shatter the relationship between Shields and embitter both boys towards their sworn duties. Cor would not look at one of his brother’s the same. Young love could tear down as much as it could build. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Cor promised, with confidence he didn’t possess, and tugged his son back into a loose, one armed hug. “We’ll sort this out.”

Ignis hesitated. “But --”

“We’ll sort it,” Cor said, and had to lean up and kiss his forehead. Ignis ducked his head and breathed unsteadily. Cor rubbed his shoulders and smiled, remembering the days when Ignis attempted to clamber up his office chair for his attention and wordlessly complained until Cor held him and kissed his head. “You just hold on, okay?”

When Cor pulled away, Ignis’ smile was watery. “Okay,” he croaked, and wiped his eyes dry. “Thank you.”

“Good boy,” Cor joked, and Ignis’ laugh was raw but beautiful. The flow of tears had creased finally. Ignis thoughtfully used his sleeve to dab his cheeks dry, making a soft sound of discomfort. Cor kept a bottle of water spare in a bag he kept by the door, just in case -- fetching it, he gave his son a firm look. “Drink.”

By the time Cor rolled his chair back to his rightful place, Ignis had noisily drained half of the bottle. He ended up cupping the unlidded bottle with an expression that was almost reassured. But something lingered. Doubt, and the shadow of fear. To him the future was a threat rather than a promise.

Abruptly, Cor was bone tired. An old bottle of whiskey gifted from a scheming ambassador that Cor displayed only for aesthetics sounded healing in that moment. Despite it all he stood. On his desk, his mobile was silent. There was no knock at the door, yet.

Reluctant as he was to do it, Cor broke the peace. “You know we’ll all need to talk,” he said. “Me and you, Clarus and Gladio. His Majesty and His Highness too.” Spreading his palms, he leaned on the table. He wondered when his body had begun to ache so intensely, and constantly. No longer was he a young man.

Ignis took another sip. Sniffing hard, he nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said, even as his voice cracked. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he repeated, trying to meet Ignis’ eyes. They were close to bloodshot and his eyelids were swollen, puffy. “I love you, and I love Gladio. I’ll fight in your corner always. No one will split you up. Clarus will come around.”

At his young age there was still a softness to Ignis’ cheeks. A lightness to his hair, faint acne scars. Ignis was _ young.  _ Still a child, rushing to his father and looking for reassurance. “Promise me,” he said, and Cor could not deny him.

“I promise,” Cor said before his hesitate could render the world that much colder, and the trust that Ignis bore rendered Cor a weak man.

And then, Cor’s mobile rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this chapter. every chapter after this will be a redux version where the chocobros are now adults. i've finished all of them (excluding editing) except prompto's, which i don't have any ideas for rip
> 
> SO if you have requests of something you want to see with an adult prompto! let me know in the coments!
> 
> thanks :3


	6. noctis (redux)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this has been a long time coming! sorry about that. it's basically because i forgot i had finished this and that i needed to put it up :')))
> 
> promise the wait after this won't be as long. the pieces are written, they just need copying up and some heavy editing, so hopefully..... HOPEFULLY....
> 
> but sorry again! i hope you enjoy.

“Ah,” Cor said, damn near tripping over his own feet in the surprise of it all, and Noctis stopped dead in his tracks. Freezing up, the two of them wild anaks in the bold headlights of a speeding truck, and neither of them dared to move a muscle.

There was a neat bouquet in Noctis’ arms. It was bright and beautiful. It was clearly thoughtfully put together, a dozen different shades of pink that Cor barely knew existed. Even if he peered closely he thought he wouldn’t be able to pick out the differences. Pastel colours were bound with white wrapping, a soft blue ribbon. It was easily twice the size of Cor’s own offering and professionally put together. Probably cost a few pretty crowns and standing there in the middle of the path Cor couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed.

The gardens were quiet. Cor knew the route of the guards like the scars upon the back of his hand and he had slipped into the head house keeper’s office while he was away on lunch to shuffle through his papers. He memorized the shifts of each of the gardeners. It would not do to be seen, let alone disturbed, and yet here he was. There wasn’t a single gardener to be sure. No voices sounded. Only birdsong and the faint rustle of leaves filled his ears. Today, it came as no great solace.

Slowly, Noctis turned his head. His expression was very carefully blank. Their eyes met for an awkward moment, until his dropped to glance at Cor’s own carefully cradled bouquet. Noctis’ lilies made a mockery of Cor’s self-picked carnations, grown in the blooming family garden. At the sight of them Noctis drew his lower lip between his teeth and began to chew, worrisome.

In the silence that yawned between them Cor cleared his throat as quietly as he could. Somehow it still sounded accusing and Noctis winced. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school, your highness?”

The prince chewed harder. “Told Iggy I wasn’t feeling good and wanted a few hours alone,” he admitted without a fight, and exhaled heavily. “He didn’t ask any questions, because… y’know.”

Cor did know. He withheld a grimace. It was barely ten in the morning and he was already throat deep in murky, unfamiliar waters. If he moved wrong, they could both be enveloped. “Yeah,” he murmured, and even something that simple felt like a mistake. The water rose. Cor shifted from foot to awkward foot. “Ignis gone home, then?”

“Told him to go take some time with family,” Noctis said and that was another misstep. Even after all these years it was still an uphill struggle to know the right thing to say. Or even just something decent – the Caelum family was a stunted lot, emotional awkwardness seemingly thick in their blood. Father to son, inherited from birth. Love and loss might have been unifying when they stood alone, but hand in hand they were savage, unyielding. It was the only weapon poorly suited for Cor’s grasp. The world was too delicate for them all. “Not to be a snitch, but I think he let Prom skip school and took him to lunch. Then I guess they’ll go home.” His lower lip was pink, and Cor swore it was a little bloodied. “You should be there for when they get back.”

Cor nodded. He resisted the urge to chew his own lip raw. It was a bad habit to carry into adulthood. These days, the council would pull him up on anything they could. “Thanks. Promise I won’t be mad. And I’m sure they appreciate it.” Reaching up he rubbed at the back of his neck. A haircut was one of the many things on Cor’s growing list of urgent chores. “You, uh. Going to see your mom, then.”

Noctis looked away. The flowers dipped as he shuffled them in his arms. “Yes.”

This part of the garden was never full of people. While it was carefully tended to it was never by their bustling team of staff all at once, an excitable bunch who played all the newest hits from their portable radios and called out greetings to all who passed. Here it was too subdued, too solemn. Two gardeners were assigned several times a week, depending on the season, and they worked quickly and in silence. Not a soul enjoyed the silence, the thick tension that draped over them.

Even so it remained well kept, colourful flowers neatly trimmed and carefully watered, kept in decorated baskets or threaded into shallow beds of soil. The private mausoleum down the straight stone path was gorgeous in its subtlety, all pale marble and glass and no fanfare. Most never dared to approach. Unlucky guards set by the door pulled faces but didn’t dare to make complaints after learning of their posting first thing in the morning. Nyx had silently bowed his head as Cor passed in lieu of his usual snapped salute and lazy grin. His expression was carefully anguished, as if wishing he could speak but knowing not what to say. Now his reluctance was all too clear.

It had been several months since Cor had visited his friend last. There were too many excuses he could choose to cower behind -- work, family, sheer exhaustion after a long day. He had promised himself he wouldn’t forget, but the silence was oppressive, the chill of her rooms uncomfortable. To visit the dead was a burden like no other. But as the long weeks passed with no visit, sparing thoughts of her, his guilt would build. Cor would find himself distracted during the daylight and unable to sleep even in the comfortable warmth of his bed, until he would pluck Amais’ hard grown flowers from their tamed back garden, pouring over them until he found the most beautiful. Then he would go and make his peace.

After all this time Aulea could wait another day. She had been waiting overlong but another turn of their star would not hurt her. Not if it meant time alone with her son. For now, he could settle the carnations in water upon their kitchen table and then hunt down and hold his own children close. Even as they squirmed and protested, boys growing taller and more confident with each day, he would kiss their cheeks. Then he would embrace his husband tightly, filled with the dread that came with mortal life, and lie awake another long night.

“I apologise for the disruption, your highness, profusely,” he said as formally as he could muster, ducking his head in a modest bow. “I’ll leave you in peace. Please, let me know if there’s anything any of us can do for you – I’m sure Prompto and Ignis would be delighted to keep you company tonight. Please don’t be afraid to call.”

With perhaps too much haste Cor straightened from his bow and turned on his heel. Flowers swayed in the gentle wind and a sparrow hopped from across the way, playing in grass that had been freshly cut. The scent of spring was still powerful.

Cor strode down the long path and formed his plans for the day within his head. A few murmured words to Nyx would guarantee Noctis’ exposed grief some privacy. There were spare vases kept within the secret servant passageways that mirrored each long hall, entrances carefully hidden from view. A boy’s night would be good for the prince – pizza and movies and all manner of unhealthy things that Ignis would be forgiving enough to not speak a word about. Perhaps Cor could take the chance to keep his old friends’ company, fetching Clarus and spending a long night drinking, not saying a word about what happened all those years ago until alcohol loosened their rigid tongues.

Distractions, in all the way those who loved Aulea desperately needed, until Cor would make his way home in the early hours of the morning, and finally allow himself a few years. He still wouldn’t sleep. But knowing his family was safe for another day, that his children were comforted, and that death was still an ominous shadow in the distance would bring him some small comfort.

Those plans faltered long before Cor could make it out of sight. “Uncle,” Noctis called from behind, voice terse, and Cor hesitated.

Reluctantly he turned his head. Noctis gazed out at him, clutching his flowers close. For a moment he was no longer a young man in his own right, hair hastily combed to try and make a good impression on a woman who so often laughed at him, combed her gentle hands through soft hair and called little Noctis her most beautiful boy, pleased as punch when Regis would begin to splutter and protest. Cor could still see the child from those days long past – a child in the roundness of his cheeks, those still bright eyes and long lashes. He had grown like a weed since, lanky and slender, long hair falling into his face.

Visitors eager for the king’s favour all too often cooed over him as if he were still a toddler, and insisted he looked so much like his father. The most foolish declared he looked like Mors. Anyone with eyes could see the length of Aulea’s nose, the softness of her lips.

Cor could never say no to either of them.

“You should come too,” Noctis murmured, and kept his eyes cast low. So early into the summer the sunlight was weak, and his skin was sallow. It was just warm enough for Cor to lightly begin to sweat. “The flowers won’t last long. Might as well.” He paused. “Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

Cor exhaled softly. He watched Noctis’ expression remain as still as stone and thought of him alone down inside his mother’s tomb, on the anniversary of her untimely death. The Citadel could be a dark and stifling place, especially for teens still awkwardly growing with a thousand burdens and expectations on too young shoulders. Sometimes, Cor was still sick to the stomach with all his memories. His own memories of being a child lost in war, the memories of watching Noctis be sheltered underneath a desperate body as the Marilith rose high above them, shrieking in a way that still rang Cor’s ears. Dealing with a thirteen-year-old prince could be frustrating but Cor knew that child – had been that child, living amongst adults who thought they knew best for him too. Patience had not come easy to him at first, but Cor pushed past that blockade, and was determined to be a rock for any child that needed it. It was too cruel a world to let them remain alone.

The prince wasn’t alone. There were dozens placed by his side and more who found their lives intertwined with his by chance. Brothers, uncles, and a father who cherished him. But Cor knew in the depths of darkness companions were hard to see.

“Yes,” Cor said, thinking about a child alone in a tomb and hurting. Regis should have been there – there were too many things he should have been saying and doing, should have said and done years ago – but darkness and loss seemed to haunt their small family, and Cor could only help by cracking a little light. If the gods wouldn’t aid them, a man would. “If you’re sure you want a grumpy old man for company.”

Seemingly caught off guard Noctis tentatively laughed. His face scrunched up, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. Voice low, it still managed to fill the air. “Ah,” he said, and it seemed he was just as surprised at himself. “Well, when you spend as long as I do with Iggy, I guess you get used to grumpy old men.”

“Had to get it from somewhere,” Cor supposed. But he stepped forward and carefully avoided each of the superficial cracks in the cement. When he stood by Noctis’ side it startled him to find that Noctis had come to almost reach his shoulder. As cliché as it might have been to think, he remembered Noctis wailing for his father with the unforgettable burden on skinned knees. Cor had swept him up with a hundred platitudes and Noctis had been temporarily content with another man’s embrace.

It was early morning still. Their shadows were short. On most days Noctis would be drowsy with his tutors, barely having touched his breakfast. But he looked out at the tomb, eyes cast in shadow. “But, uh. No pressure. If you wanna go in alone, I get it.”

Leaning in close enough to catch the scent of his conditioner – pear, the very same Prompto preferred and it no doubt had been pilfered from their bathroom – Cor nudged their shoulders together as playfully as he dared. A real smile felt like too much to dream of. “I think your mom would love to see her two favourite boys together.”

That shy smiled returned. It was as tentative as the first touch of morning. “Is dad not so popular anymore?”

“She said he started snoring a few years after they were married,” Cor said, a touch wistful. Her smile had been charmingly lopsided as they laughed over a late breakfast. It had been pancakes – her favourite. It all seemed so very long ago now. “Might still be on her shit list.”

Stepping past his prince, Cor led the slow way back to her. Against Noctis’ freshly pressed shirt and slacks he felt seriously underdressed. Fresh out of the shower immediately after training, his old shirt was grubby. With luck his flowers would be good enough an offering, enough to mask a stench that he feared follow.

They wandered up the path, slipping deeper into the almost ominous silence of the garden. Cor wondered about the last time Regis had walked this path. They had walked it together only once. Every year Weskham still visited just to make their pilgrimage, to pour out two drinks beneath her stone and murmur about the way fate had led him, from island to island, always seeking something greater. While they had remained on speaking terms and the path into Insomnia still open, Cid had ventured up every few years with his granddaughter in tow. She grew like a weed, always smiling, inheriting her mother’s height and her father’s mess of curls. They stayed a few days to experience the city, even if Cid’s scowl seemed stuck in place, and Cindy was more than happy to spend time with the cousins she so rarely got to see.

All came, nonetheless. Cor himself tried to honour her every few months, at the very least, but it was hard to stand against that wave of overwhelming loss. It was too much. Too soon.

Set into the path down to her tomb, a gate was frozen to the touch, unfriendly iron. It was never locked but always fastened with a chain wound carefully around the spikes. The marble walls gleamed, and little hidden lightbulbs were tucked away in leaves and false flowers, destined to never wither. Lights set inside tiny tiny containers gave the illusion of wavering candlelight.

Above the gate rest a plaque. It bore her name, her birth date, and her death date. An adored queen, a loving wife, a cherished mother. _O quam cito transit gloria mundi_ – how quickly the glory of the world passes away.

Noctis inhaled softly. Cor heard no exhale that followed. Silently and delicately he unlaced the chains, metal still scraping loudly enough to unsettle them both. The gate creaked lowly, revealing the darkness beyond as it drifted open. Lights were embedded into the walls, and dark from disuse.

They hesitated together. Cor’s tired eyes lingered on her name.

Over a decade later her absence was a gnawing, constant pain. Sometimes Cor could go a few weeks without thinking about her. Other days it hurt so much Cor would take one of the photo albums kept safe in Regis’ rooms and take it away to some secret place within the gardens, kneeling amongst the lavender, and steadying each painful breath. He would flick through each page, treasuring each memory, and simply breathe until the burn in his chest was finally relieved.

He would have to quietly return it, pretend as if there wasn’t a fine layer of dust missing. All those who missed Aulea never spoke of her in the sunlight – on the days approaching the anniversary they sat in stoic, companionable silence until late, Regis uncharacteristically solemn – and after that, come morning, her name would go unspoken once more.

Maybe, with those who barely lived to recall the soft tones of her voice, Cor could make a change for the better.

Glancing at Noctis, he could see the tension written all over his face. It puckered the corners of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it, yellowing it with traces of pollen. The petals brushed his chest.

Mercy softened Cor’s heart. He reached over and rubbed Noctis’ shoulder, squeezing. Those blue eyes were brilliant still. “If you can’t bear it today, she won’t be upset.”

The boy sighed. He tugged at a lock of hair before tucking it behind his ear. “I know. But I’m okay, really.” A hollow laugh slipped free. “If I can’t face the dead, what kind of prince can I be?” The line of his shoulders was tense. His mouth twisted in displeasure. A little boy lost, stifled, and Cor rumbled in as much unhappiness.

“Don’t think like that,” he murmured. A small part of him wondered if Aulea watched, listened. A smaller, more fearful part of him wondered if she was proud of who she saw. “Don’t worry about the future. Don’t think about school, work, your title.” Cor strained a smile and prayed it would be enough. “If you want to be with your mom, be with her. Take your peace in any moment you can find.”

Noctis looked at him dead on for the first time since they met. Uncertainty still darkened his expression. Fine brows sunk and those eyes were piercing even in their uncertainty, doubt written all through his posture and in the way his fingers lingered, toying with that blue ribbon.

Cor continued. It was all he could do. “You don’t have to face the dead. You can just visit your mom who loves you.” Leaning forward, he carefully kissed the centre of Noctis’ forehead, brushing his swept hair out of the way. At the soft touch Noctis was helpless against leaning into him, tense body laxing but only barely. He finally exhaled hard, drifting eyes closed. The weight of him was reassuring. It was like Noctis was an eager child all over again, little hands clinging hard to uncle.

“I haven’t visited in a while,” Noctis admitted, his voice small. He cradled the flowers closer. “I felt awful about it, and then… then I pushed it off again and again, and then I felt even worse. I tried to ignore it, but… I don’t know. I have to come and face it.”

Tilting with a sigh, Cor rest his cheek against his nephew’s head. Cold air came from the tomb down below, a draft that threatened to chill them to their bones. It contrasted harshly with the sun that bore down upon them. Cologne filled his nose – Ignis’, this time, dabbed on a little too intensely. Noctis was only a boy, after all, playing at a man as best he could, and the thought made Cor faintly smile. “I don’t visit enough,” Cor admitted, as a start.

It was hard to be down there. It was well kept, bright, filled with flowers and photographs but they couldn’t fend off the cold. Memories warmed his heart but his skin prickled, hairs standing on end, alone and faced with the past. “And we don’t talk about her enough, I think. Not as much as Aulea deserves. It’s tough. But I know your mom is happy to see me – to see you, and whether you’re visiting every day or not doesn’t mean anything to her. It just matters that you love her still.”

“I do,” Noctis said immediately, and then paused. “I miss her,” he added, voice small, like a child again. “What little I remember, anyway.”

“I know,” Cor murmured, and pressed another lingering kiss against his head. Noctis allowed him, silent as the grave, but one had fisting in Cor’s jacket. When he pulled away, Cor offered the most reassuring smile he could manage. It was time to go. It had been too long already. “Come on. Let’s go make your mom happy, alright?”

As fine and watery as it appeared, Noctis strove to smile back. There was pink life to his cheeks again. The tension in his limbs lingered, drawn tight, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he said, and sniffled. He wiped at his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his shirt. “Thank you.”

Cor’s hand slipped down to his nephew’s shoulder. He squeezed firmly. “Come on,” he murmured, soft and patient, and took his first step down into the tomb, lights coming to life around him, and Noctis at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are really nice and encouraging, but kudos is wonderful too! Thank you for reading.


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